Tags, Whump and One-shots
by Fleuramis
Summary: A series of tags, whump and one-shots centering around Aramis. These will most likely continue through the autumn and winter. They are not part of any fete online. His brothers will also feature prominently in most of them.
1. Chapter 1

Marmion was dead, the crisis was over.

The Musketeers were finally escorting the Royal family back to the palace, and were most of the way there.

Unbeknownst to Aramis, riding with his brothers behind the royal carriage, the eyes of one of the three tended to keep coming back to him.

Athos, who had heard second-hand from Milady de Winter that his brother had been violently thrust out of a window on an upper floor, and had perished, couldn't help keeping an eye on the brother he had so nearly lost this day.

His heart had nearly stopped when he heard the words. Not Aramis! The man of nine lives. The man who had faced the threat of death multiple times over the past few years, and seemed to dare it to trying taking him. It couldn't be true, he told himself.

But he knew his wife. Or thought he once had. The matter-of-fact manner of her recitation of events had only seemed to reinforce what she had told hi and Treville.

Then, when he had come through the doorway and seen his brother at the top of the stairs, gun in hand, peace returned, washing over him in waves. He wasn't gone. His brother was alive!

Now, heading back along the road to Paris and the garrison, though, he had an uneasy feeling. He knew that it concerned Aramis, hence his surreptitious surveillance of his brother.

Aramis had insisted that he 'was fine'. But that was almost a standard reply from him when questioned about his health.

He had said the same thing when a crossbow bolt had torn through his shoulder, embedding itself and refusing to pull free for what seemed to Athos as much too long a time.

He had also given his standard response when caught in a building that had been rocked by explosives. When they had found him under a pile of rubble and barely conscious, he found just enough breath to whisper the words before passing out.

Athos was just a little leary of relaxing just yet, his eyes straying yet again to his brother's form.

Even though he had been keeping a watchful eye, he still wasn't quick enough when Aramis' body, without warning, suddenly went limp. Without a sound, he tumbled from his horse's back, landing in a graceless heap in the middle of the dirt road and lying still.

Dismounting from his horse faster than he probably ever had in his life, he dropped to his knees next to his fallen brother. He heard Porthos and d'Artagnan doing the same, his eyes never leaving Aramis.

"What is wrong with the Musketeer, Treville," came Louis' voice, full of curiosity rather than concern.

Treville, trying to disguise his shock from his King, responded much more calmly than he felt inside, "I will find out Majesty", turning his horse as he spoke.

When Athos heard the question, and knowing Rochefort's habit of trying to paint the Musketeers in the worst light, he realized they had to get Aramis somewhere away from the Royal family, Rochefort and the Red Guards' attention to take care of him.

He rapidly scanned their surroundings, his eyes lighting upon a copse of trees at the bottom of the hill they were currently on. The trees would give them shade from the heat of the sun beating down, as well as giving them privacy while they took care of Aramis. They also didn't need Aramis possibly waking up to multiple eyes to later carry gossip back to the Court.

As he and his brothers carefully began to lift Aramis off the ground, Treville's voice sounded quietly behind him, "How is he?"

Without looking back, Athos replied, "I honestly do not know yet, Captain. I was keeping somewhat of an eye on him when he told me he was fine earlier."

Treville, in other circumstances, might have chuckled in agreement with Athos' comment, but under the circumstances, he responded, "Wise of you. I will hold off the King and other curiosity seekers. Take your time, take care of him (the affection for the marksman coloring his words), and bring him back to us", laying a firm hand on Athos' shoulder, before returning to the King.

Carrying Aramis down the hill was not an easy maneuver, but they finally accomplished it, laying him down in the grass.

Athos sent d'Artagnan and Porthos back up to retrieve the horses.

When they had returned, Porthos brought over his saddle, which he laid on the ground. D'Artagnan had retrieved a couple of blankets and Aramis' medic bag, smoothing one of the blankets out on the grass. Aramis was then lifted and gently deposited on the blanket, the saddle becoming his pillow.

Athos began softly probing under Aramis' curls, and it didn't take long to find a very large lump hidden there.

"This is most likely what caused him to pass out," he said to his brothers.

Porthos agreed,saying, "If it was anyone he was taking care of, he would have told them how dangerous a knock on the head can be."

D'Artagnan spoke up, "He is so different when he is the patient from when he is a medic, isn't he?"

Athos heaved a sigh and nodded. Aramis had done this for as long as he had known him, never telling anyone he was injured, preferring to take care of things himself. He wondered sometimes if it could have something to do with the relationship with his father, who he rarely mentioned.

There wasn't really anything they could do for the lump, other than to try and keep him still. They had all known men who had received a blow to the heading battle, who had never awakened again. They could only hope and pray that it wouldn't be Aramis' fate, as well.

They gingerly sifted through his hair next to remove the glass shards tangled in it. Several were slightly imbedded in his scalp, along with dried blood. Athos was shaking his head by the time they had finished the process.

Athos said, "We need to take his clothes off and check him for any other injuries he may have. Once he wakes up, he will not let us do it."

While taking off his doublet and shirt, they had to shake out more shards of glass. His neck and chest looked fine, but when they turned him over, all three of them let out gasps.

"How on Earth did he manage to rescue the Queen, fight Marmion's men and ride a horse with a concussion and this?" Porthos said, eyebrows raised and gesturing towards his brother's now bare back.

Athos and d'Artagnan didn't say a word, just stared at the mess.

His skin was heavily black and blue from his collarbone to his waist. Several deep gashes mixed themselves into the skin, as well.

Athos indicated the area of his ribs and began probing gently. Finished, he looked up at them, saying, "I suppose it could probably have been worse. He does have at least two broken ribs, however."

Mostly in silence, they set to work. Cleaning his back as delicately as possible in order not to bring any more pain than he had to be in already, they next bandaged his ribs as tightly as they dared. They checked once more to make sure they hadn't missed any glass shards, then pulled a blanket over him.

Through it all, he never made a sound or woke up.

They arranged themselves around him, and settled in to wait for him to awaken.

They were still waiting the next morning, and throughout that day. They had just moved a few feet away to discuss divvying up a night watch, as all three of them were exhausted from being up for two days, when all three of them turned almost simultaneously at hearing a quiet groan in back of them.

"Aramis?" Athos tentatively spoke.

Porthos chimed in, "You with us, mon ami?"

They waited as they watched his eyelids try to prise themselves open, not wanting to rush him even if they were impatient internally, needing to assure themselves that he was going to be all righti.

Finally, his lids lifted, finally revealing exhausted brown eyes.

"Wh..what happened?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper and scratchy from lack of liquids.

Athos replied, "You fell, brother."

His eyes becoming impossibly wide, Aramis asked, "H..how? D..did I …get shot?"

They looked at each other, wondering if the concussion had taken his memory.

"Aramis," Athos continued, "what is the last thing you remember?"

"Kneeling b..before the Q..queen," he responded, his face continuing to reveal his confusion.

"Do you remember anything before that, Aramis?"

They could see his concentration as he tried to remember.

"A..after I cl..climbed up the s..side of the b..building and….", he didn't get any further as three voices sounded as one exclaiming, "You did what?!"

"M..Marmion p..pushed me out a w..window. W..when I woke up, I c..climbed up the side to g..get b..back in."

Aramis' brothers, by this time, were beside themselves. Not only had he been pushed out a window in an upper story and been presumed dead, he had risked his life scaling the side of the building!

"Aramis, when did you kneel before the Queen?" Athos asked.

"A..after I f..fought the Marmion guard. Got p..punched a c..couple of times, th..then kn..knocked him out."

Aramis' brothers were now staring at him as his story continued to unravel.

"Then you found the Queen?"

"Y..yes. And the..then you," he finished quietly.

There was utter silence now, his brothers realizing he nearly could have died three times, but survived. They were utterly grateful he had survived such a horrendous time.

"B..but how d..did I fall?" Aramis asked,back to his former question.

"The events of your day simply caught up with you, Aramis," Athos told him softly. "The large bump on the back of your head…."

"W..what?" Aramis asked, tentatively lifting his hand to search out the bump,only to have Porthos gently grasp it and return it to his side.

"The shards of glass stuck in your scalp…" Aramis' shocked reaction continued. "And the state of your back…"

Here Aramis interrupted him, stutter finally shocked out of him, "What?!"

"The horrendous bruising from your collarbone to your waist, mixed up with cuts and gashes. And the bruising on your upper leg, as well."

Silence reigned again. It wasn't often that Aramis' mute, but this had become one of them. He had known he was sore, but the adrenaline running through his body as he desperately had to get to Anne had seemed to wipe it away at the time. He felt every bit of it now, and profound love and gratitude for his brothers' care and concern, borne out of their love for him.

His eyes closed for a moment, silently offering a prayer of gratitude.

Athos' voice came again, bringing his eyes back open.

"Aramis, you have no idea how concerned we were. You were unconscious for over a day, brother. We have one request for you."

Aramis waited, ready knowing what his request was, and knowing Athos would voice it.

"We love you, Aramis. Please do not keep your injuries, your illnesses, your troubles from us. We are brothers, and we care for, and take care of, each other in all ways."

Aramis was silent yet again. Then slowly, his hand reached out palm down. One by one, each of his brothers did the same. One for all, and he was blessed more than he could put into words that he had been given these friends, these brothers, whom he loved, respected and cared about with all his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Just a short little tag to The Good Soldier that I wished might have been a part of it. **_

They had buried Marsac yesterday.

Aramis still felt the guilt of shooting his former best friend, but what other choice could he have had? Marsac would have killed Treville, the closest thing Aramis had to a father.

Aramis had meant every word he had said to Treville about soldiers following their orders. He could remember commands that he had been given that he had wanted to rail against. He was sure every soldier could at one time or another.

He rolled over, hoping he could get some sleep without his seeing himself shooting Marsac playing over and over in his mind.

The movement was accompanied by the recognition of a headache coming on. Sighing, he thought 'just what I needed'.

The pain in his head gradually increased, and he realized it was one of the now-infrequent massive ones he used to get after Savoy.

'He would just ride it out', he thought to himself, right before everything went black.

Treville arrived at Aramis' door seconds before Porthos the next morning. Seeing the big man, Treville held up a hand telling him to wait.

Rapping twice with no response, Treville simply opened the unlocked door and went in.

He found Aramis lying down, eyes closed, and back quietly out again after laying a hand softly on his shoulder.

Seeing Porthos impatiently pacing back and forth a few yards away, he strode over.

"He's asleep, Porthos. Let him rest for a couple of hours before going in."

"But..."

"That is an order, Porthos," Treville cut him off.

The last thing Porthos wanted to do right the was wait, but nodded his head at the command in his Captain's voice.

But two hours later he was back. Knocking quietly on Aramis' door, he opened the door when he received no answer.

What he didn't expect, and therefore shocked him, was to find Aramis laying on the floor, his legs twisted in his blanket, his eyes closed.

Racing across the room, he knelt down at his brother's side, immediately laying his hand on Aramis' chest, letting out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he felt a normal strong heartbeat.

He next felt his brother's forehead. No fever. What was wrong?  
"Aramis?" he softly called. No reaction. Then louder, "Aramis?" Still no movement, no reaction.

Reaching underneath his brother with both hands, Porthos lifted him and laid him out on his bed, then sat down to wait for him to awaken.

About an hour later, Aramis' eyes wearily opened, only to instantly squeeze shut again as he groaned.

Porthos, could tell the light was bothering him and moved quickly to the window, pulling the shutters closed. The room was plunged into semi-darkness, but he saw that Aramis' eyes had reopened.

"You all right now?" Porthos asked, concern reflected in his face.

Aramis squinted up at Porthos, his head pounding like it was going to break.

"P…," he stopped, then tried again. "Porthos?"

"It's me, Aramis. You all right?"

"My head…," he started to say, then stopped as the pain intensified. His hands reached up holding either side of his head, his eyes squeezing shut as the waves of agony continued to come.

And then, Porthos realized what was happening. The headaches he had suffered from so badly after Savoy had returned. Probably brought back by the whole mess with Marsac, he growled inwardly.

Anger at what Aramis had gone through the past few days filled him, and anger at himself and his other brothers was even stronger. We're brothers, but we didn't support him when he needed us, he thought guiltily.

His emotions were raging, but he refused to let Aramis see them. Instead, he gently stroked one hand through his brother's hair to soothe him, while the other held his hand. I wasn't there when you needed me before, he continued, but wild horses won't pull me away from your side this time.

A little while later, he heard the door quietly open, and the soft footfalls of gently-treading boots moving towards them.

Athos sat down on the other side of the bed, and d'Artagnan at the bed's bottom. Athos caught Porthos' eyes. Although not a word was spoken, the shared guilt in the swordsman's eyes reflected his own.

They all three felt that they hadn't been there enough for Aramis before. And when he had been forced to shoot his former best friend, none of them had been there for him in his grief. Nothing and no one would ever cause them to do so again.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hold still," Aramis ordered, looking pointedly up at Athos and d'Artagnan to hold Porthos tighter than they had been.

Taking a deep breath, Aramis began once more to stitch the gash in Porthos' arm closed.

Porthos had been wounded by one of the bandits who had attempted to waylay them not far from Paris on the way home from a completed mission. Porthos had simply wrapped his scarf around the wound, saying it was nothing, and they had finished their journey.

Aramis had laid into his brother at the garrison once he found out that Porthos had downplayed the wound.

"Do you realize that this could have become infected without treatment?" he scolded the big man.

Porthos just replied, "But it didn't," which only exasperated the medic even more, if that was possible.

He continued stitching, but his displeasure was still evident by his body language and his silence.

A few minutes later, Aramis wiped his brow as he finished and stepped back. Porthos was finally asleep.

"Turning, he took no more than two hesitant steps before silently wilting to the floor.

Athos and d'Artagnan, shock written all over their faces, dropped to their knees on either side of the now-silent marksman.

They turned him over, and Athos opened his doublet. Revealed to them was his shirt soaked with blood.

They looked up at each other, the shock having increased, mingled now with worry.

They gently lifted him between them and deposited him on the bed, then removed his double and shirt.

D'Artagnan, wetting a cloth, began to clean away the blood, revealing a bullet wound in his right side.

Athos muttered, "And he was chastising Porthos!" thinking 'he will hear more about this later'.

They checked his back, and to their relief found an exit hole. 'No cauterizing,' he thought with profound relief. He knew he would have been the one to have to do it, and it was always an extremely painful process, both for the wounded and the one extracting a bullet.

They finished cleaning the wound, and then wrapped clean cloths around his torso. Sitting down, d'Artagnan on the edge of Porthos' bed, and Athos next to Aramis', they silently kept vigil, waiting for their brothers to wake up.

Porthos came to first, about an hour later.

Blinking several times, he looked up to find his brothers looking back at him.

"How long was I out?" he asked, and was told a couple of hours.

It took him a few minutes to notice, but then his face registered confusion.

"What happened to him?" nodding towards the other bed.

Athos, still not happy with Aramis' habit of hiding his injuries, replied, "It is nothing we have not all experienced before, Porthos."

Porthos picked right up on what Athos wasn't saying. "He got himself injured and didn't tell anyone-again?"

"Porthos, he was shot! He got all upset with you for saying your wound was nothing, while he was hiding one himself." D'Artagnan, who hadn't experienced Aramis' habits as much yet, was still upset like Athos.

Porthos, though still tired and sore, refused to let himself fall asleep until his foolish brother woke up.

Two hours later, they noticed movement under Aramis' eyelids, and waited. Sure enough, after a couple of attempts to open his eyelids, he finally succeeded.

The first thing, actually the first three things he noticed, were three sets of dead serious eyes watching him.

Confused, he rasped, "What...", his throat needing liquids.

D'Artagnan, seeing his need, brought a cup and lifted him enough to allow him to drink.\As d'Artagnan laid him back down, Aramis' face scrunched up from the pain of being moved.

Taking a deep breath, Aramis asked, "Porthos, are you all right? You shouldn't be up so soon. I need to..."

"Aramis, do you not think you both need to rest?" Athos quietly asked, an eyebrow lifted accompanying the question.

"I'm fi...," Aramis began, only for Athos to stop him, saying, "No, Aramis, you most definitely are not fine."

Porthos continued, saying, "When were you going to tell us you had a bullet hole in your side?"

Aramis' eyes dropped at these words, knowing his brothers were not happy with him right now.

Athos spoke again, "Aramis, you are just as worthy of our loving care. You do realize that, do you not?"

"I couldn't be weak when Porthos needed me," Aramis said.

"So you ignored the amount of blood you were losing, and suppressed the pain you had to be in?" Athos wasn't letting up on him. "Were we not worthy to be told, Aramis? We love you. We certainly do not want to be kept in the dark while you bleed out."

Feeling more and more guilty, Aramis hung his head down, saying, "I'm sorry."

Athos said softly, "You are our brother, Aramis. We want to care for you when you are hurt as much as you wish to take care of us."

D'Artagnan added, "We may not be as skilled as you, but we do our best."

"You put everyone's needs ahead of your own. You are just as worthy as we are, Aramis."

By this time, Aramis was blinking away tears. He knew he was loved. He just had never thought about the matter in the way in which they had just put it.

"It's not that I'm rejecting your care. I just need to know you are all right before I turn my attention to myself."

Athos said, "It goes both ways, though, Aramis. If you gave all the time and attention to me if I was injured or ill, and did not take care of yourself until it was too late, I would not be able to live with myself. I am sure Porthos and d'Artagnan feel the same," looking up to see his brothers vigorously nodding in agreement.

"I will try to do better," Aramis quietly promised.

"That is all we can ask of you, mon ami," Athos said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Worn out now as emotionally as he was physically, Aramis' eyes began to droop.

"Rest, Aramis," Athos said softly. "We can take care of things while you sleep, brother."


	4. Chapter 4

"You're sick!" Porthos told his brother.

"No, I'm not," came Aramis' reply, almost before Porthos was finished, his confident statement belied by the hand he had laid on his stomach and the grimace he couldn't seem to refrain from making.

"He had been training a new cadet who had asked Aramis to teach him to shoot better, and was very pleased with his pupil's progress. He didn't want to stop when things were going so well.

"Aramis, stop being stub…"

"Aramis," and Aramis knew his goose was cooked as soon as he heard Athos' voice. "Go to bed. You are sick, and you will only make it worse by pushing yourself like this."

Aramis heaved a big sigh, but his brothers ignored it and looked pointedly at him. Giving in, he trudged slowly towards his room, fully aware that if he hadn't, Athos would have been in Treville's office to inform him.

"****************

"How long you suppose we can keep him down?" Porthos asked at next morning's meal , looking over at Athos and d'Artagnan.

"IF he went to bed like he should have, he may have got a good day's rest, which can do nothing but assist him in recovering," Athos replied. "That is also provided he has been drinking plenty of water, as well."

"I think I'll go see," Porthos said.

"Porthos, he's fine. He knows what he needs to do to get well. He is, after all, our medic," Athos said.

"But…."

"We will give him the morning for some more rest, then check on him after the midday meal," Athos told him, and Porthos decided he wouldn't push him.

Athos was probably right, he thought to himself.

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When they knocked on Aramis' door later, there was no answer. Trying again, it was still quiet.

Athos was about to say that Aramis was probably still asleep, but a prickly feeling began on the back of his neck and instead, he pushed the door open.

Aramis was curled up in a ball in the middle of the room. Rushing to his side, they observed his extremely pale skin, sweat-drenched hair his whole body shaking. His hands were clutching at his stomach, and he was muttering, "Not…not…"

Porthos gathered him into his arms and deposited him gently on his bed, having looked heatedly at Athos on his way past him.

Athos was already beginning to have pangs of guilt. We should have checked up on him, he thought. I should not have ordered that we stay away.

Standing by the bed, he glanced down at the bucket Aramis had obviously used when his stomach emptied. And then he felt panic, something he rarely did.

He saw blood as well. This was not the influenza or cold they had deduced. Not with blood.

"Turning to d'Artagnan, he said quietly, "Go and bring back Lemay." Then added, "Quickly!"

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Aramis was not unconscious, but didn't respond when they spoke to him. His eyes, at half-mast, kept flitting back and forth. His breathing was rapid, as if he was in panic, and his arms refused to stay still, his fingers grasping at the blanket.

"What is this?" D'Artagnan asked, not recognizing the symptoms.

Porthos, his focus totally on his belabored brother, didn't respond, too busy trying to keep him still.

Athos, silent also, was getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his worry was ratcheting up. He had a feeling he knew what it might be, and he hoped with all his heart he was wrong.

Dr. Lemay come quickly, he silent thought. Before it is too late, watching his brother's struggles.

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The physician arrived within the hour, bag in hand. Looking down at Aramis, he was shocked.

"When did this begin?" he asked, while he was divesting down to shirtsleeves.

"Yesterday morning, unless he was hiding it before that. You know how he is," Porthos responded, never taking his eyes off Aramis' face.

"I had to order him to rest, Doctor," Athos told him, guilt still gnawing at him. "If we had checked on him much sooner than we had…" trailing off, his sentence unfinished as he watched his brother's tortured movements.

"Do you have an idea what is wrong with him?" Athos asked after a few minutes of Lemay's examination.

"I am afraid that I do, gentlemen," Lemay answered. "Aramis has been poisoned."

The word dropped into the now-silent room like a bomb. Whatever they might have been suspecting, that wasn't it.

"Poison?!" Three shocked voices sounded almost unison.

They looked at each other, then down at Aramis. Who? How? Why? The questions flooded their minds.

Then, Athos remembered the word Aramis repeated when they had found him-not.

"Dr...I think Aramis may have been aware that he didn't have a normal illness. When we found him, he was repeating the word 'not' several times."

"He has trained himself as a medic well over the years. He probably recognized that this was not a normal illness, but was too far along to do anything."

Shock still written on their faces, they turned as one to Lemay, asking, "Can you help him?"

Lemay quietly answered, "We do not know what poison was used, nor the dosage. I will try my best. I have some herbs and medicines I will use, and we will see if he responds to any of them. I will need a table and several bowls to mix them."

As Athos and d'Artagnan turned to get what he had asked for, Lemay's next words nearly froze them."I cannot guarantee that they will work on an unknown poison, nor do I know if they might react badly to what is in his system. But I will try."

They hadn't thought that anything Lemay gave him could also harm him. It was a sobering thought. But they had no other choice. If nothing was tried, the poison would definitely kill him. At least, he might have a chance with Lemay's treatments.

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Lemay had told them to keep trying to get him to take liquids, but very little of the water ended up being swallowed.

Over the course of the day and that night, Lemay tried several things, but with no positive result.

Towards morning, he heaved a big sigh and turning to the Musketeers, said, "I had not wanted to try this particular one, because it is known to fail as often as it works, but it is the only one left that I have not tried. It has a particularly nasty taste, so he may try to keep from swallowing it. Please use whatever methods you can think of that will work to get him to take it in, if you will."

He put a small amount in a metal cup and, nodding to them that he was ready, put it to Aramis' lips.

They could all smell a foul odor from it, and momentarily sympathized with Aramis, who was already, even only half conscious, trying to turn his head from it.

Porthos held Aramis' head steady and unmoving with his hands firmly on either side of his face, even though it hurt to have to force him like this.

It fell to Athos to try prying Aramis' mouth open. He hated to have to do it, but his brother was going to die right in front of their eyes if he didn't.

Clamping his fingers on either side of Aramis' nose, he squeezed. It did what it was supposed to do. Aramis, having no other way to breathe, opened his mouth. As soon as he did, Lemay poured in the medicine. The good doctor himself put a firm hand over his mouth, and Aramis had no other recourse but to swallow.

There was nothing they could do now other than wait. Settling around the bed, they hoped it would work. It had to.

Aramis had gone absolutely still. There was no movement other than the slight rise and fall of his chest to tell them he was still alive.

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It wasn't until several hours later that there was any change. He coughed.

After so long a stretch of not knowing what might happen, even a little cough increased their hope.

They were all on their feet now, including Dr. Lemay, who had said he was not leaving.

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"Aramis, can you hear me?" Athos asked softly.

"Open your eyes for us," Porthos pleaded.

Aramis coughed again, then moved his head slightly.

"Aramis?" Athos tried again.

Slowly, his kids began to open. They thought they had never seen such tired eyes, yet at the same time such a welcome sight.

"Wh…what…" he stopped, as he began a dry raspy coughing.

D'Artagnan refilled the pitcher with water, and Porthos got Aramis to drink. Once he began, they ended up having to pull the cup away. He himself had taught them that when someone has been without liquids for a while, small amounts are best at first.

Dr. Lemay asked, "How are you feeling, Aramis?"

"Like all m..my st…strength is gone," Aramis said, in a barely audible whisper. "Wh..what happened?"

There was a long pause, before Athos spoke up and told him, "Someone poisoned you, Aramis."

Shock washed over Aramis' face, followed by, "Who?"

"We do not know. Yet. But trust me, we will find whoever did this to you." Athos' voice held a promise laced with a threat. Whoever had done this would pay.

Aramis was silent, probably trying to digest the information he had just awakened to hear.

Dr. Lemay said, "Aramis, you should now be able to recover, as long as I can trust you to follow the instructions I am going to leave for your brothers?"

He saw the others looking at each other, and smiled. He knew how difficult Aramis could be, especially when he was recovering. They were going to have to keep an eye on him for a little while.

Aramis looked from the good doctor to each of his brother's faces, before simply saying, "Thank you for saving my life."

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**There will be a sequel to this short story that will be a regular fanfic.**_

_**As always, thanks so much for reading. I really appreciate each and every one of you! **_


	5. Chapter 5

_**This is a combination whump and one-shot, involving Aramis and Constance. **_

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

Constance was finally done at the vendor's stalls. She felt that she had spent a very profitable morning haggling with the vendors to get the best prices for she and her husband's pantry.

But she looked forward now to a midday meal all by herself in peace and quiet. Her husband had taken off earlier in the morning for a business trip, so she had the house to herself, which didn't happen too often. And she she was looking forward to a very special treat in the afternoon.

Reaching her door, she reached into her pocket for her key, once she had laid her bags on the ground to free her hands.

Unlocking the door, she turned to reach down and once more pick up all her bags, when she was 'rescued' by a smiling Aramis, who said, "Let me assist you, Madame Bonacieux," suiting his actions to his words by collecting her purchases and waiting for her to open the door wide.

"I guess I owe you my gratitude for your help, Aramis," she said with a smile. "What brings you to my door?"

Bowing in acknowledgement of her words, he said, "D'Artagnan drew Palace duty unexpectedly with Athos and Porthos' for today, and I volunteered to give you his regrets that he will not be able to accompany you on the picnic you had planned by the river today."

Constance's face reflected her disappointment at the cancellation of the outing, even though she tried to hide it.

"Why are you not on palace duty, as well?" she asked him.

"The Captain gave me several letters to deliver instead, including one for your husband. I just volunteered to add d'Artagnan's heartfelt regrets to them," the hand holding his hat now placed over his heart.

"I thank you then," Constance told him with a smile. "Would you perhaps like to share my midday meal with me?"

Aramis was about to reluctantly turn down her offer, when he saw the tear quietly wiped as she turned away to put some vegetables on the counter.

Changing his mind, he said, "I would enjoy that, Constance. Thank you," before sitting down at the small table.

After enjoying a delicious meal and conversation with Constance, he took his leave, thanking her for taking pity on a soldier's stomach with such a delicious meal.

She responded with a 'go on with your flattery', then giving him a swift hug.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis had walked about halfway back to the garrison, when he came to a halt, remembering the note that the Captain had added to his deliveries. He shook his head, taking himself to task for actually being in the Bonacieux home and forgetting the note for Monsieur around with a sigh, he retraced his steps to the house he had just left.

Approaching the house, he was surprised to find the door wide open. Removing his hat and knocking on the opened door, he was met with silence.

Walking slowly back towards the kitchen where they had just eaten, he called her name once more, louder this time.

"Constance! Is everything all right?"

Suddenly, she called out, fear etching her voice, "Aramis! Go! Go now!"

He moved rapidly now down the hallway, and started to turn the corner into the kitchen, when something hit the side of his head-hard. He heard Constance scream just as he totally blacked out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Madame Bonacieux," a voice began, as Aramis tried to climb up out of the darkness he found himself in. The voice was a man's, and it spoke with an insolent soft voice. "Your husband leaves on a business trip, and your lover visits as soon as he's gone? Tsk, tsk. And I was given to think you were a respectable woman."

At these words, Aramis forced his eyes open, blinking them rapidly several times against the dizziness that seemed to engulf him. The first sight meeting them was Constance held in the grip of a lean, hard-faced man who had a gun to her head.

Ranged around the room he saw several more men, including the mountain of a man at his own side.

"Leave her alone!" he demanded.

"I don't think you're in any position to be giving orders", the man told him.

Aramis, as he continued to fight the pain coming in waves, tried to reach back and grip the door he was leaning against to stand up. He quickly found that his hands had been bound very tightly behind him. /div  
div dir="auto" /div  
div dir="auto"Slumping back down, he demanded, "What do you want?"

"Nothing from you. You're only going to be leverage for her to cooperate."

Constance, fearful of what they could do to Aramis, begged the man, "Please! I don't know what you're asking me about. Please don't hurt him!"

The group's apparent leader said, "He doesn't have to be. You see, that all depends on you. All you have to do is tell me where your husband put it."

"He doesn't have what you want. My husband is not a thief", she said firmly.

The man nodded to the bear of a man standing next to Aramis, who landed his fist into Aramis' stomach with a speed that belied his size. Aramis gasped, bending over from the blow which he suspected had just cracked a rib.

"Stop!" Constance begged. "I can't give you what we don't have.

The leader had handed Constance over to an oily-looking man with somewhat of a leer in his face who latched onto her arm."We can always have some fun once we get what we came for", he said softly into her ear, his free hand his hands rubbing up her arm.

She tried to jerk her arm away, but he just gripped it tighter.

Aramis, finding enough breath to speak, growled, "Leave her alone!"

The leader spoke up again."You have no say-so here, Musketeer. You're not in a position to demand anything, now are you?"

Realizing it was doing no good, and not wishing to possibly have the man holding Constance take it out on her, Aramis lapsed into silence, prayers silently being offered instead, as he was helpless to do anything physically at the moment he prayed that his brothers would wonder where he was and come looking.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His brothers had unexpectedly come back to the garrison early, as Louis had come down with a bad headache and dismissed them around midday.

They had expected to find Aramis back before them, as he only had a few errands to do. But no one had seen him since earlier in the morning.

D'Artagnan told his brothers that Aramis had also offered to deliver a message to Constance, too. But even if Constance had persuaded him to share a midday meal with her, it was way past midday. Do where could he be?

They finally decided to head for the Bonacieux residence, in hopes that maybe Constance had possibly needed his assistance with something.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'll bet your husband doesn't have any clue that you're seeing someone behind his back, does he, Madame Bonacieux? Very sly in that pretty head of yours", the leader of the band of villains taunted her. " Now, I will tell you what we're going to do if you don't tell us what we want to know. My friend here", indicating the big man next to Aramis with a pointed sweep of his hand, "is going to start slicing away at your lover. Show her what I mean, Jean," he said to the silent big man.

The man indicated may have been very large, but he moved far more rapidly than his size would indicate, yanking open Aramis' shirt and doublet with one hand, and slashing his chest with a wicked-looking dagger with the other. Blood immediately began running down the marksman's chest from the long, deep gash inflicted upon him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis' brothers, having arrived at the Bonacieux residence, found the door still wide open. This awoke suspicion in them, as it was out of the ordinary for Constance to leave the front door open, allowing dust and dirt to make their way inside.

Athos silently indicated they go around to the back to investigate first. They silently moved towards the back, where the kitchen window was ajar. They froze when they heard a rough voice say, "Show her what I mean, Jean".

The sound they heard next, a gasp of pain, had them kicking the kitchen door in rapidly, guns already drawn.

All of the invaders save one gave up and raised their hands when they found three pistols aimed at them by three furious Musketeers. However, the big man, again moving with speed, had his knife against Aramis' throat.

Athos addressed the man, his calm voice laced with deadly, implied threat, as he said, "If one more injury is inflicted upon our brother, you will never make it to prison or a hangman's noose. Our justice will be far more painful than you can begin to imagine."

Silence reigned, as the man tried to decide what to do. Finally, he shoved Aramis in front of him, and took off down the hallway, leaving the limp, bound body of his hostage to drop to the floor.

He almost made it to the front door, before d'Artagnan's bullet felled him, while Athos and Porthos had kept their pistols trained on the others. But Porthos then left Athos to continue holding them there while he dropped to his knees beside Aramis, Constance reaching him at the same time.

Aramis, his head pounding from the blow to his head earlier, moaned as Porthos cut through the ropes binding him and gently laid his head in his own lap.

Athos and d'Artagnan ordered the men to lay on their faces, and then rapidly tied the group's hands and feet. Then, they hurried over to their brother.

As soon as Aramis' eyes opened, he said, "Constance?"

She replied softly, "I'm here, Aramis. I'm fine. Just lay still a bit, and we will take care of your injuries."

Turning to his brothers, tears in her eyes, she said, "I was so afraid they would kill him. They hurt him to make me tell them something I didn't know."

Not understanding what she meant, they resolved to ask her to explain, but first they needed to take care of Aramis, who was still bleeding.

Athos and Porthos began to minister to him, while nudging d'Artagnan towards Constance.

Porthos got a couple of cloths from the counter, and used one of them to wet and hold against the bump on the side of his head. They figured he probably had a concussion from that.

Athos held a cloth against the gash until it quit bleeding, while with his other hand, he gently probed his torso for injuries, finding one of Aramis' ribs cracked.

When the gash had stopped bleeding, they wrapped it, then lower down wrapped his ribs area tightly to take care of the rib.

D'Artagnan had never seen Constance as shaky as she was now. Putting his arms around her, she laid her head on his shoulder.

"They were hurting him. They thought...they thought he was my lover, and th..they could make me tell them by hurting him. I couldn't get them to stop. They thought my husband took a valuable piece of jewelry from some Marquis when he went to his estate to measure him for some clothes. He wouldn't do something like that. The Marquis sent these…", shuddering as she looked at them on the floor, "these…animals to get it back."

D'Artagnan hugged her closer. "It's all right, Constance."

"Aramis had no idea what they wanted. They hit him…and the..then they c..cut…." Here she just couldn't go on.

After a little while while d'Artagnan filled the details in for his brothers, Athos told him to go back to the garrison and bring a couple of men to 'escort' their prisoners to jail.

Aramis had passed out, his head on Porthos' lap, concussions never treating him very well.

Constance sat down on the floor at his side, gently stroking his hair, murmuring, "I am so sorry you were dragged into this."

"He will be all right, Constance," Athos told her. "I am sure he would rather he had been here, than for you to have faced them alone. They will face judgement for what they did here."

Constance looked around at the others. She realized that, not only had she found the man she was beginning to love, but had acquired three beautiful friends, as well. She gave thanks that they were a part of her life, and cared for her. It was a blessing that meant a lot to her.


	6. Chapter 6

Aramis was beyond tired, and his right arm throbbed non-stop. There was a bone either broken or cracked in his forearm, which had hit the ground first in his tumble from his saddle.

He had been thrown from his horse yesterday morning when it had been panicked by a snake in front of it, galloping off afterward, something his well-trained horse rarely had ever done.

Aramis was still quite some distance from Paris on his way home from an errand Treville had sent him on.

He had walked all day yesterday, before exhaustion had forced him to find shelter for the night . He had used a piece off the bottom of his shirt to bind his arm against his chest, but it was still throbbing non-stop. He had slept against an old oak tree.

His stomach had awakened him very early, voicing it's displeasure at not having received any food since early the morning before. At least, he had been able to slake his thirst at the river twice, but had no way of saving any to bring with him as he would be leaving the river behind him in the direction he hoped would bring him back to Paris late the next evening, if all went well.

Normally, his love of nature and beauty would have had him admiring his surroundings. The lush green grass had a sparkle to it from the Dee of the early morning. Small stands of spreading trees dottedthe landscape. A small river was gurgling off to his left a short distance away. No farms in sight as far as his eyes could see. There were a few puffy white cloud in a bright blue sky. All in all lovely, but in his despondent mood, mostly going surprisingly unnoticed.

It was, all-in-all, not a pleasant situation to be in, Aramis decided, as his feet kept persistently trudging onward.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

His brothers, when he hadn't returned last evening, had gradually grown more and more concerned.

By the following midday, Athos had told Porthos and d'Artagnan he was going to speak to Treville about permission to ride out in search of him. They watched him head up the wooden steps to the Captain's office, hoping for good news when he came back.

Treville answered the sharp knock at his door without looking up from his stack of paperwork. "Come in," he said sharply.

Athos walked in and stood at attention in front of Treville's desk, waiting.

Treville finally looked up and said, "Aramis not back yet?"

Athos replied quietly, "No, Captain, he has not. May we.…"

Treville cut in, "I'm a little short of men right now, unfortunately, Athos."

Athos countered, "This is not like Aramis, Captain. Something might have…"

Again, unusually, Treville cut in. "I can't spare any men right now. I will need you three to ride out as soon as possible, however, to deliver this missive from Louis to the Marquis of Brienne."

Athos started to respectively object, when a thought occurred to him. The nobleman's lands lay directly on the route Aramis would have taken! A smile began to form as he realized how his Captain was taking care of two problems: Aramis not coming back yet and Louis' never-ending letters to his Court members.

"Yes, sir," he replied, not bothering to hide the smile that Treville was now returning.

"See that you do not take more than four or five days to get back," Treville added, as Athos headed for the door.

Coming down the steps again and seeing Porthos and d'Artagnan having not budged from where he had left them, he called out, "Saddle the horses. We have a mission."

At these words, frowns of anger and frustration filled their faces. Porthos headed for the stairs saying, "I'm going to have a talk with the…"

"We are delivering a letter to the Marquis of Brienne," Athos told him, stopping Porthos in his headlong rush for the stairs.

"The Marquis' lands lie…"

"Yes, they do," Athos responded. "Shall we make ready, gentlemen?" already seeing their expressions become happy again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The shadows were growing longer as the afternoon grew late. Aramis began to look around him for somewhere to spend another night. He saw a large set of trees not too far off, and made his way towards it. He was bone-weary, but at least the monotonous day had been uneventful.

That is, until several riders appeared in the distance, heading in his direction. As they grew closer, Aramis' body began to grow tense. He wasn't yet positive, but he had a very bad feeling that what he could make out of their clothing spelled Red Guards, and he wasn't in the best shape to take what looked like four of them on at the moment.

He had no weapons with him now, an arm that was in pain and useless for fighting. It was a highly unusual situation for him, a highly-skilled soldier, to be in.

They brought their horses to a halt for a moment, then slowly and deliberately came down the hill towards him. When they got within speaking distance, they circled him, watching him the whole time. Aramis felt like the prey in a hunting scene.

Aramis recognized the leader. He was someone Aramis had, unfortunately, had run-ins within the past. Fournier. Aramis' heart sank. The man quite literally hated him.

Aramis had pulled the man off a woman in a sheltered area if the palace grounds. Fournier had been forcing his attention on her. She was the daughter of the Comte de Longueville. Aramis had yanked him off of her, and and stumbled away, gasping in shock.

When Fournier had protested that Aramis was sticking his nose in where it didn't belong, as if the man was thoroughly innocent, Aramis had punched him. Then, he had escorted the young woman back to her family's suites in the palace, and gone back to the garrison to report the incident to Treville.

Treville had taken the matter up with Louis, who had insisted that Richelieu should be present, as he had charge of the Red Guards.

When Richelieu had protested that Fournier was a fine soldier, and this was the only known mark against him, Louis had agreed, over Treville's protests, to dock the man one month's pay as a punishment. But he remained a Red Guard in good standing with the palace.

From the look on Fournier's face, he was still as angry at Aramis as when the incident had happened.

"Well, fancy meeting you here out in the middle of nowhere," Fournier, abroad, but wicked smile on his face that never reached his eyes. "And look! You've had an accident, as well. Couldn't keep control of your horse? I don't see it around anywhere," making an exaggerated show of looking all around the area.

Aramis just looked at him, his eyes full of contempt.

"And you seem to have injured yourself, as well. That's what happens when the Musketeers are let out of their garrison by themselves, boys," he taunted, speaking to the three men with him.

Aramis' eyes were now reflecting his anger. As he stepped towards Fournier, the man said, "I wouldn't," as the marksman heard the sound of a pistol cocking behind him.

Aramis. He may be angry, but not a fool. Taking several deep breaths, he remained still.

"Now, here is what we're going to do. I owe you for attempting to blacken my name a while back. So turn about is I punish you for what you did…"

Aramis interrupted, not willing to let the other three men think Fournier was an innocent in the affair.

"You attempted to rape an innocent woman," he shouted, his voice raised in anger.

"She was playing innocent, but wanted me. You insulted my reputation. I've waited a long time, but I knew the time would come. Take him!"

With that, they dismounted, closing in on Aramis, who struck before they did, punching Fournier hard in the stomach.

But that was as far as he got before two of the men grabbed his arms and twisted them in back of him and upward in painful position that rendered him basically helpless.

Fournier, in control again, stepped up into Aramis' face, grabbing his injured arm as he did so, causing the marksman to gasp in pain. As it was twisted upward, he laughed as Aramis nearly passed out from agony, before giving possession of it back to his man, who then re-twisted it behind his back.

Fournier then returned the blow Aramis had given him, smirking as he did so. It seemed to be a signal for the the other man uninvolved in restraining holding the marksman, who now punched Aramis on the face.

The two of them continued to lay into him with their fists, and Aramis felt something crack in the area of his ribs. Still, they continued.

The men holding him then let go, and he dropped to his knees, then slowly to the ground, where the men still continued now using their booted feet against his body. Aramis, half-conscious, had curled up as much as he was able, but couldn't escape the blows.

Suddenly, the assault stopped.

Vaguely, Aramis heard the Red Guard's voice, as something metal was wrapped around his neck and began to tighten. "It's been fun, but now the execution begins. Goodbye, Musketeer scum!"

Aramis found it almost impossible to draw in breath as the chain tightened still further and then held. His world was growing dark around the edges, and narrowing when he heard-or imagined-a pistol shot sound. After that, the blackness claimed him.

"xxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis' brothers had followed the route he would have taken on his journey, and their fears had been heightened when they had found Aramis' horse a couple of hours ago. His weapons, food, water and medical supplies were still on his horse. There was no sign present that could tell them what had happened, but it didn't look good.

Almost frantic now to find their missing brother, they urged their horses faster, eyes scanning the countryside around them for him.

It was after they came over the same hillside as the Red Guards had, that they saw a disturbance ahead of them near the base of the hill. Recognizing Aramis immediately, as well as Red Guard uniforms, they galloped headlong down the hill.

Throwing themselves off their horses and drawing their weapons in one fluid motion, they laid into the Red Guards with unfettered wrath, making short work of three of them.

Athos headed for the last man, who still had the chain wrapped around Aramis' throat. The marksman was still, and fear clutched at Atho's heart, as he couldn't tell if his brother still lived.

Athos made short work of the man who came at him enraged that his vengeance had been interrupted. The man wasn't much of a swordsman, and Athos disarmed him of the rapier he had drawn as he had advanced. When the man then drew his main gauche and attempted to attack, Athos ran him through, leaving the now-dead Fournier on the ground, before hurriedly turning to check on his brother.

Porthos and d'Artagnan were trying to keep Aramis still as he gasped and coughed, his body trying to bring air back into his lungs. They rubbed his back in gentle circles, speaking softly to him to let them know who was there.

"Aramis, it's Porthos. Just calm. I know it's hard, but you're making it worse by struggling," the big man himself in pain at his brother's frantic attempts to breathe.

But Aramis didn't hear him. There wasn't any air. He couldn't breathe! He struggled, his body weakly writhing in his frantic efforts.

"Aramis," Athos' calm voice spoke now, "Breathe slowly. In. Out. In. Out." Seeing him hesitate his movements, he told him, "Now, follow what you hear me say. In. Out. In. Out. Very good. Keep going, brother."

They could all see the red marks from the chain's links around his neck.

His eyes had remained closed since they had found him. As he slowly now began to take slow, ragged breaths that obviously caused , they waited, continuing to soothe and encourage him.

They could see that his face was heavily bruised, one eye swollen shut. They suspected that it wouldn't be just his face, but his upper body as well, when they had the chance to tend to the rest of him. They could tell that his right arm was probably broken, as it was laying at an odd angle. But for now, they focused on quieting him and getting his breathing as back to normal as possible.

It took longer than they liked but at last, he sounded somewhat closer to normal in breathing in and out. That is also when tired eyes finally opened, full of pain and confusion.

"Wh..what ha.."

Porthos shushed him, saying, "Don't try to talk right now, mon ami. Let your breathing calm down."

But this increased Aramis' confusion. "Wh..what…"

"Aramis, you are injured. Do not try to move for now. Continue to breathe slowly in and out."

It was a little too much for Aramis to take in, as his eyes closed a few moments later. His breathing, however, quieted and calmed.

His brothers took care of his other injuries while he slept: nasty bruises, two broken ribs and one cracked, and his arm was definitely broken-and in more than one place. Fournier's cruelty had broken the second bone. They bound it as tightly as was safe to his chest. Then, they waited.

He awoke again an hour later, sleepy eyes once again opening. Seeing their faces, he smiled softly.

"How are you feeling, Aramis?" Athos asked.

"Sore," he slowly responded, his voice scratchy and whisper-soft.. "Tired." They could all see it was very difficult for him to speak yet.

"That was Fournier who did this" Athos commented. "So he never got over being disciplined for his behavior. The Red Guards have further blackened their names with this incident. The King and the Cardinal will be informed of the matter."  
"Where.."

"I took care of him, Aramis. Rest assured," Athos told him, only to have d'Artagnan add to his comment, "He ran him through!"

Aramis eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. He was just glad the man couldn't come after him again.

His brothers all realized just how close they had come to losing Aramis that day. Another few seconds, and the chain would done it's deadly work. They were all very thankful they had arrived in time.

D'Artagnan made a drink of herbs and honey to soothe his brother's ravaged throat. A short time later, he was asleep.

His brothers insisted on taking turns through the night sitting with him. They were every bit as watchful as was Aramis was when the shoe was on the other foot.

Aramis woke up briefly in the middle of the night, his mind not quite registering where he was. It was quiet, dark. He was warm. It took him a moment to realize he was snugly wrapped in blankets.

A moment more passed, and he then realized he was wedged between two bodies. A snore sounded, and he smiled. Porthos.

"You are safe," a sleepy but firm and calm voice spoke from his other side, and the smile increased. Athos.

A soft footfall sounded near his head. "Go back to sleep." D'Artagnan on watch.

His eyes drifted shut again, secure in safety, the smile still lighting his face.

They loved each other as the true brothers they were.


	7. Chapter 7

_**This is a tag to the Spoils of War episode. Did anyone notice the wound on Aramis' upper right arm after his fight with several of Grimaud's men? And in Death of a Hero when he was shirtless, it shows as a slashed scar. I also missed seeing him say goodbye to the children he was in charge of.** _

Aramis, after telling Athos he would return with them to Paris and rejoin the Musketeers, headed for his small *cell to retrieve his old uniform and weapons, having told Athos he would meet them outside.

Opening the door, he stepped inside. Closing the door, he bent to retrieve a burlap bag from under the bed. Opening it, he took out the neatly-folded clothing, putting them on immediately. He buckled on his weapons belt, and drew out the ornately-carved pistols, holstering them at his waist.

Looking around at the small room, consisting of a single bed, a simple table and chair, some books and a crucifix on the wall, he thought to himself that he had enjoyed the brothers, the prayer life they lived and taking care of the children. Maybe earlier in his life, before he had become a Musketeer or met his brothers, he could have lived this life fully, but he had never been completely at ease. Something was always missing.

He felt at peace for the first time in four years. Everything seemed right again. His brothers were waiting for him. God had indeed called him to be a Musketeer, he thought to himself.

Taking a deep breath, he turned for the door.

But as he turned, lightheadedness overcame him. Grasping at the bedpost, he missed, sinking to his knees. Then, blackness overcame him as he tumbled to the floor.

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His brothers had been waiting patiently for over an hour with their saddled horses, one for Aramis now included.

Each of them was joyful that their long-missed brother was finally returning. Four years without a cherished brother and friend was about to end, at last.

But as the minutes ticked by, they began to grow uneasy. Had he changed his mind? Did he think God would not understand his decision? Had he become too attached to the children under his charge?

They hoped not, but the longer they waited, it seemed he no longer wished to ride with them.

After talking it over, they decided that one of them should go back inside-just to make sure.

Porthos quickly volunteered. His guilt at being so angry with his brother had been eating away at him. He wanted to be the one to hopefully find out they were wrong at thinking he didn't want to return with them, that something had simply delayed him.

He had handed his reins over to d'Artagnan and was heading for the door, when it opened and Luc came rushing out, his expression panicky.

Porthos grabbed him around the waist, saying, "Whoa, whoa! What's wrong?"

"Aramis! He's…" stopping and gasping to catch his breath.

"He is what?" Athos asked, in a far calmer voice than what he was feeling inside.

"He's…he's…I mean he's hurt!" he managed, eyes wide and that, Athos and d'Artagnan dropped the reins of their horses and quickly dismounted, Athos demanding of Luc, "Where? Show us!"

Luc, recognizing the voice of someone born to command responded quickly, "Please! Come!" turning to head back inside.

They followed Luc down several hallways, the monastery covering quite a bit of ground.

Finally, he stopped in front of an open door. Several monks were surrounding a bed. When one of the monks moved, they could see Aramis lying unmoving on the bed.

All three of them were drawn immediately to him, two of the monks moving aside to make room.

They watched as the third monk, possibly a healer among the community continued cleaning and examining an area on Aramis' upper arm.

They could see a deep red and purple area on his upper right arm, which puzzled them, as they had seen no sign that he had been hampered by a wound either during the previous fighting, blowing up the ammunition, or later when Athos had talked to him.

The monk wrapped a white cloth around the area, then turned to the men he had heard enter the room earlier.

"What is wrong?" Athos asked softly, not wanting to disturb his brother.

"He has a sword cut on his upper arm," the monk replied, imitating Athos in hushed tones. "It isn't too deep, but he must have hit the dirt a few times while all of you were fighting, and some got into the wound. I believe it to be a fairly minor infection and have used some healing herbs on it. We will know for sure by tomorrow morning if it get worse. If not, he should be ready to accompany you back to Paris, as has been his wish."

They all breathed a sigh of relief at the news. Their fears were allayed.

"May we…" Porthos began, only for the monk to respond quickly, "Of course you may stay with him. You are his brothers."

At the look of surprise on their faces, he explained, "He has told us all about you and his former life, more than once. It was obvious that he loved you very much, missing you and his former life. But he thought since he had made a vow to God that he was supposed to stay here. But what he hadn't realized was that God knows his heart, and God had given you and his former life to him. He hadn't chosen it alone."

Aramis' brothers listened in surprise to find that he had been sharing with this community about his past. They had heard that communities of monks lived a silent life, but Aramis had been unable to contain his missing them and and had spoken of his former life often to the monks as well as to the children.

They thanked the monk, who they learned would be becoming the new Abbot of the community soon, to replace the one murdered by Grimaud. They believed from the wisdom that this man had just revealed that he would be a just and wise leader.

The monks slowly filed out, each laying a hand briefly on Aramis' good shoulder as they went.

His brothers settled in to wait.

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Morning came, and Aramis awoke to see all three of his brothers at his bedside watching him, groggily reminding him of times in the past where he had awakened to the same scene.

"Welcome back, brother," Athos said.

For a few moments, Aramis look puzzled as to why he was in bed with all of them looking down at him.

Then, memory kicked in. Getting dressed to leave. Passing out.

Athos continued."Did you, perhaps, keep silent about your arm as you have with wounds in times past, Aramis?" Exasperation tinged with fondness sounded in his voice.

"Arm?" Aramis began, then stopping as he remembered. "I got cut with a sword when I was fighting Grimaud's men." Seeing their questioning looks, he continued. "Before the fight inside the monastery walls. When I was taking the children to safety." He stopped, as he thought about it. "The sword cut was nothing. I've had far worse injuries that didn't cause me to pass out."

"The monk treating you said you got some dirt in it and it could cause an infection," d'Artagnan told him.

"You may also have been unaware of pain because of the adrenaline of fighting. We really should check it now," Athos said. "The monk said if an infection did not appear by this morning, things should be fine."

Suiting action to his words, he undid the cloth, and breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief when the wound revealed no sign of infection whatever.

"You really do have nine lives, mon ami," Porthos teased him.

They were about to ask him if he would like to leave with them the next day, when a quiet knock sounded on the door, just before the door opened and all of Aramis' charges filed solemnly in surrounding the bed, led by Luc.

Luc was just starting to speak, when little Marie piped up. "Are you going to die?" voicing the subject all the children were worried about.

Aramis smiled, before responding seriously to their obvious loving concern.

"No, I am not going to die," he said seriously." But, I do have something to tell you that might make you sad," glancing up at his brothers, who nodded, realizing that it was going to be hard on both Aramis and the children with what he needed to tell them.

"Remember my stories? How I loved my brothers so much?" glancing up again to his brothers. He could see the children now glancing over their shoulders, too.

"Remember how I told you that we had charge of protecting the King, the Queen, and their son?"

The children were nodding their heads, the younger ones still not sure yet where he was headed, but the older ones' faces beginning to realize what he wanted to tell them.

"They need me again. My brothers, who love me and have missed me very much, as I have missed them. They would like me to go back to Paris and be a Musketeer, protecting the royal family and our country from people like the bad men who came here. Can you understand that?" looking at each one of them. "Can you do a very noble deed in giving me back to them?"

Silence filled the little room. The children, some of whom were already in tears, slowly began to nod their heads.

Aramis, a smile gracing his face, but pain tearing at his heart at both their sorrow and the bravery it took for them to let him go.

One by one, they stepped forward to give him a hug, each of the girls also kissing him on the cheek.

Luc spoke for all of them when he said, "We will miss you, Aramis. You taught us so much. You saved us from getting killed by those men. You made us orphans' lives so much richer than they might have been. God bless you!"

The other children very solemnly nodded their heads in agreement, before filing quietly out of the room.

Aramis, tears still glistening in his eyes, looked up at his brothers. "That is one of the two hardest things I have ever had to do. The other was saying goodbye to you, brothers."

"We are blessed to have you coming back to us, Aramis," Athos said, a rare use of blessing in his speech betraying how joyous his emotions were at his brother's decision.

"I will be ready to go early tomorrow morning," Aramis said. "To Paris and the garrison, but especially with my brothers. One for all."

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_*** The word cell comes from the Old French celle meaning a monastic cell, itself from the Latin meaning room, store room or chamber. A cell in the Christian context is a name for the living quarters of monastics, either male or female. Usually, a monk's cell is small and contains a minimum of furnishings.**_


	8. Chapter 8

Having set up camp for the night on their return from a long mission, Aramis had taken off into the woods to hunt for a rabbit for their evening meal, as he had spotted one as they came to the clearing.

Athos told him it was a good idea, and that they would wait to leave to give him time.

They stood quietly talking while they waited, but all of a sudden, they heard an anguished scream, one they all recognized.

"Aramis!" three voices all exclaimed at once. Turning, they moved rapidly in the direction the cry had come from.

Weaving among the trees and underbrush, they finally came to a clearing, and were brought up short by the scene in front of them.

Aramis lay writhing on the ground, his face revealing that he was in a massive amount of pain.

Racing to his side, all three of them's stomachs

clenched in horror as the source of his agony was now revealed to them.

His hands were futilely pulling at a bear trap gripping his left ankle, which had probably been hidden from his view by the tall, thick underbrush.

They reached him, kneeling at his side.

Aramis gazed up at them, his eyes wide, pain-filled and frantic.

"P..please, get it …o..off. G..get it off," the pain causing him to stutter in trying to get the words out, his fingers scrabbling at the trap, trying to get it off.

Athos laid a hand on his shoulder, saying, "Aramis, you have to stay still," as his brother continued to desperately grab at the trap with his hands. His breath was coming unevenly in harsh gasps. Laying his other hand against his chest, Athos could feel how rapid his heart rate was.

Aramis was unable to focus beyond the agony his leg was in. Athos spoke softly to Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"Porthos, would you try opening the trap jaws?" and to d'Artagnan, "we need to hold him as still as possible. If he jostles himself while Porthos is opening it, the trap will spring shut and inflict even more damage," not knowing the extent to which his brother had already been subjected yet.

Athos kept his hand around the back of Aramis' neck, hoping his brother was at least cognizant enough to feel the touch and know that his brothers were still there.

The gasps were alternating now with broken, shaky breaths as the spasms tore through his leg. Aramis' eyes were squeezed tightly shut, one hand tightly balled into a fist at his side, with d'Artagnan's hand laying clasped over the top. The other hand was held in Athos' grasp, the hand tightening reflexively as his body continued to fight the agony. Athos readied himself for Porthos' signal, when he would need to disengage his hand from Aramis' to hold him still.

Porthos, one hand laid firmly on the bottom piece of the trap, the other ready to pull upward, looked up and said, "On three."

Seeing their nods, he began. "One." Athos gently pulled his hand from Aramis', transferring it to lay firmly on his brother's shoulders, d'Artagnan transferring his to Aramis' waist and knees.

"Two."

Porthos took a deep breath. He realized the strength he had been gifted with was needed more at this moment than at any time in his life.

"Three."

With a mighty heave, he pulled upward, loosening the trap enough that Athos was able to pull Aramis free, as the marksman let out a blood-curdling scream and went limp.

Porthos gathered his barely-conscious brother into his arms against his chest, the marksman shuddering from the jolts of fire that now increased their fury in his leg now that it had been freed.

Athos, moving far more calmly than he felt inside, inspected the ankle. It turned the stomachs of all of them to see the bleeding holes in his skin where the jagged teeth of the trap had embedded itself, the edges an angry deep red.

"It is definitely broken, but it does not appear to have crushed his ankle. We have definitely had luck on our side to save him," he murmured, all of them very thankful that it hadn't caused an injury that would probably have made him a cripple for the rest of his life.

Athos and d'Artagnan began to carefully clean away the blood. D'Artagan had found a salve in Aramis' supplies, and slowly and gently rubbed it into the area around each opening, before wrapping his ankle in clean cloths.

Porthos had begun to gently rock his brother's upper body to soothe and calm him. The motion quieted his spasms a little, allowing him to finally pass out from exhaustion.

His brothers were finally able to relax a little.

"That ankle is going to be in pain for quite a while until it heals," d'Artagnan said.

"We will be there for him," Porthos declared.

"I would like to find and destroy all traps," Athos said. "When I was growing up, one of our workers had to have his leg amputated at the ankle because of one of them. My father was furious that I had been allowed to see the injury."

It was very unusual for Athos to share his past with them or anyone, so they knew how much it must have affected him.

They made camp for the night right where they were, not wanting to force Aramis to attempt to ride yet. As was their custom when one of them was sick or injured, they took turns sitting with him through the night.

He never awoke, but was restless when the pain got too bad.

In the morning, Aramis, not quite awake, tried to move, only to moan as the jolts of fire ran through him. Porthos laid a hand on his shoulder, saying, "Just lay still, mon ami. You won't be in any shape to be moving around for a while."

Aramis, his face scrunched up from the pain, looked up at Porthos, as Athos and d'Artagnan joined them. "I owe y..you m..y leg, if n..not my life."

Taking a shuddering breath, he continued. "I n..never even s..saw it. Th..the pain is l..like nothing I've e..ever experienced."

"We will stay here for a few days until the pain calms down a little, Aramis. Treville will understand when we report to him. Just rest now, brother."

Aramis' eyes slowly closed, exhausted after only a few moments.

His brothers all stayed near, struck by Aramis' words. He always downplayed his injuries,asking that he was far better than he actually was. So for him to say what he had struck them to their core.

They remained camped for several days, intent upon nothing but being a loving presence as he alternatively was either somewhat awake, in which they attempted to get him to take some broth and water, or in an uneasy sleep that was punctuated by the fire in his ankle.

Finally, it calmed down enough that they decided that they could begin a very slow ride back to Paris.

Aramis, awake and up in front on Porthos' in the saddle, took one uneasy glance back at the spot, now just as grassy peaceful-looking area under a spreading oak, and shivered at the memory it held, before looking ahead where Paris beckoned.

His brothers had brought him through it. Glancing at each one of them, love and gratitude shone in his eyes.

_**I looked up bear traps, and found that someone very strong could prise open a trap, so I thought Porthos would fit the description! **_


	9. Chapter 9

Was anyone else a little disappointed like me at the latter part of To Play the King? Aramis had a bullet hit his face, one that his cheek, in the rest of the episodes of season 3, bore a nasty-looking scar from. It seemed glossed over and sort-of put aside after it happened. Instead, we had the d'Artagnan feeling guilty scene. They could have found a way to do both. And I felt there was no way Anne and the others would allowed Aramis to appear at Anne's side in front of Louis.

There were several things I wish they had included in this episode, so here is a little tag!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"She's...she's mine," Aramis told the madman threatening his queen and his love.

The words were finally said aloud, as he tried to save her life, not caring who heard or what they thought of them. All he could focus on at the moment was getting Anne away from this madman threatening her.

Then, almost in a blur, Borel started to shoot, Aramis flying desperately between the madman and Anne, and the gun went off.

Aramis landed on the ground grimacing in pain. He had succeeded in grabbing Anne and getting her out of the line of fire, taking the bullet himself. He put his hand over his mecheek, bloody now from the bullet having torn a path across his skin. His focus, though, was still on Anne, his eyes rapidly scanning over every inch of her to make sure that she had escaped harm.

Once he had assured himself on that score, his body started to react to the pain on his face,and he limply lay back on the ground.

His brothers and Anne surrounded him, the madman now laying still a few yards away.

Anne reached out a trembling hand to lay on his other cheek, her voice almost inaudible as she whispered, "You saved my life...again. But you were nearly killed, querida," the Spanish endearment slipping from her lips naturally.

"I'm f...," he started to say, when Athos said, "You are most certainly not fine, Aramis. Your cheek is running with blood."

Turning to the queen, he said, "Your Majesty, no doubt the shot has been heard by some or many attending the Dauphin's birthday festivities. Before rumors begin and become rampant, I suggest we go to the King to report this incident."

"He's right, Majesty," Aramis spoke softly, wincing at the pain the movements of speaking caused. "We can..."

"You are going to go have your injury attended to, Aramis," Athos swiftly countered. "We will escort Her Majesty to her husband to explain."

"But...," Aramis started to protest.

"Aramis, another two or three inches, and that bullet could have taken your eye, or your ear. You landed in the dirt. The wound needs to be cleaned immediately to prevent a possible infection."

Anne spoke now, saying, "Aramis, mi amor, listen to Athos. He is right. I do not want to risk your getting an infection, either. Go with Porthos, and let him clean your injury. For me?" she added quietly.

Once she had spoken, Aramis gave up his protests, letting Porthos pull him to his feet, and then walking with him to a side door where Anne had told them to ask, in her name, for a room, clean cloths and a basin of water.

She went back into the palace main doors with Athos and d'Artagnan, glancing back over her shoulder several times to watch the man she loved walk slowly but steadily with Porthos arm around his shoulders for support. She had come to close to losing the man who possessed her heart. A silent prayer Rose in thanks for saving his life, and asking that her good God keep watch over him always.

Athos, walking at her side, was just thankful that Aramis had finally gone quietly to have his injury tended. If the King had seen the Queen with Aramis, he could quite possibly have exploded. Rochefort had done such a good job of whispering as much dirt as he could while he had been First Minister. There was no need to call any attention by having Aramis present at her side.

Once they had followed the palace servant to an available room, Porthos had Aramis sit down in a plush, gold-embroidered chair, and lay his head back, finally taking a deep breath and releasing it with a little sigh of relief.

"You really do love her, don't you?" Porthos asked.

"Yes, my friend, I do. I would give my life happily to ensure her safety. Or our son's," he added quietly.

"All of those women you used to see..."

"Can't hold a candle to her in my eyes, Porthos. There was friendship, affection. But never the deep, abiding love I have for Anne. I know I can never share the rest of my life at her side, but I will be watchful and keep her safe for the rest of my days."

"It'll be very hard to do, mon ami," Porthos said, sad for his friend.

"I know it will," Aramis said. "It's an impossible love. One I didn't set out to choose. But the love is enduring. It's real and deep. I have to be content to love her from afar."

His sadness at the gulf between his friend and the woman he loved touched Porthos deeply. He reached an arm around his brother's shoulder, pulling Aramis against his shoulder in cameraderie for what he could never really have.


	10. Chapter 10

"Aramis had been heading back to Paris after a rare two days off-duty when it happened.

One minute, he was the enjoying the late-autumn scenery around him, and the next, he was flying off his horse to land painfully in the dirt, his leg twisted underneath him. His horse, uneasy but well-trained, stood patiently a few yards off.

Trying to stand up, Aramis quickly discovered he had probably sprained his ankle-badly-in his fall, and it would not hold his weight.

Grimacing, he crawled towards some trees nearby, and, spying a good length of loose branch on the ground, used it to pull himself awkwardly to his feet.

Heading for his horse, he noticed what he had not seen while astride-a length of rope stretched out across the road. His horse must not have seen it either. He was just glad it hadn't injured his horse's that thought came another: who had done it?

The most likely culprits would be bandits, and when the thought ran through his mind, he reached for his pistol-only to hear the ominous click of a pistol close by.

Removing his hand and raising both slowly above his head, he turned in the direction of the sound to see three men, their lower faces covered, aiming guns at him.

"What do you want?" he asked them calmly, not letting them hear any fear in his voice.

"Well, for starters, drop your weapons belt on the ground," one of them said.

After obeying their order, one of them moved closer kicking it further out of his reach.

"Now, remove your jacket and boots," he was told next.

Aramis complied, feeling the late autumn coolness afterwards. There wasn't anything he could do about it, though.

"Now, your purse."

"I only have a few coins in it,"Aramis told them, not wanting to get killed when they discovered so little money.

"It will be a few coins more than we have right now," was the response.

"So, now what?" Aramis asked, still showing them no fear, which they were not used to from their victims.

The three men were showing signs of irritation now. They liked having their victims cowering from them, begging for their lives. This was not what they had expected.

"Now, we have ourselves a little fun-at your expense, of course," one of them replied.

That is not what Aramis wanted at all. He supposed he probably should have just remained silent, but to these type of men would probably have done the same thing anyway.

As they surrounded him, Aramis steeled himself, and hoped his brothers would show up soon. They had said they would ride out and finish the journey with him, then head for a great little tavern right inside the southern city gates for their evening meal.

As the first blows landed, he dazedly wondered what they would find if they did come.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had been unable to go out to meet Aramis the afternoon before, but Treville had insisted they attend the King at a palace function for a visiting ambassador. Normally, they would enjoyed the excellent food they were given while in attendance, but they regretted having Aramis expecting to meet them, and bring disappointed when they didn't show up.

Now next morning, they had urged their horses to a gallop as soon as they had left the city gates, racing down the road in the direction Aramis would have been coming back on, worry filling their hearts. He hadn't returned that night, not had the garrison received any note that he would be late.

What had happened?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis had lost consciousness in the midst of the men's assault upon him.

As he gradually woke up he looked slowly about with a blurred gaze.

It was the same place where they had begun beating him, only the sun was now just beginning to come up. He had been unconscious for the rest of yesterday and last night?

Rolling over, he attempted to get up, and his body instantly protested, flares of pain shooting through his body. He could feel the bruising to his face, and one eye was swollen shut, but it was his ribs where the source of agony was.

They had pummelled him. The men had been sadistic, enjoying the cries of pain they elicited from him, even though he tried hard to suppress them.

Despite the pain, he still made it to his feet, assisted by the branch that was still close to him. They had used that branch in his rib area, one reason he was sure there was at least one broken rib, if not more.

Finally making it to his feet, he began hobbling in the direction of Paris, taking it slow. He felt each step he took in his body's protests.

In the back of his mind as he made his stumbling way down the road was concern for his brothers, who had not come to meet him mid-afternoon as they had made plans to go before be left.

Were they all right, or had something happened to them, too?

He had probably made it no more than a mile when he heard horses approaching.

After yesterday, he didn't need any more trouble, and was in no shape to defend himself, but there wasn't time to try moving off the road into the trees.

Stopping and standing still, he gripped the branch he was leaning on, ready to swing it if he was attacked.

Gradually, the riders hoofbeats neared, and finally he could see them.

Giving a huge sigh of relief, he just stood waiting as his brothers approached him.

When they got near and could see his condition, they all leaped from their horses, worry on their faces.

"What happened to you?" they seemed to all ask at once.

"Some bandits took umbrage that I didn't have much money, and..." his voice hitching as the pain shot through him again.

Porthos reached his side first, lifting him and carrying over to a nearby oak, carefully lowering his brother to the ground to lean against its massive trunk.

Carefully removing his dirtied and torn shirt, Porthos and Athos checked him over. He had quite a number of varying shades and sizes of bruises, but the worst injuries were the two broken ribs, which they wrapped tightly to keep them in place.

"We are sorry we could not come yesterday, Aramis," Athos told him, his voice carrying all the sadness and regret it had ended up giving them. "The King insisted on us doing guard duty for a gathering he had arranged for a visiting ambassador." He paused for a moment, then said, "You do know we would have met you unless orders prevented it?"

Aramis nodded wearily, eyes at half-mast from exhaustion after trying to force himself to get back to Paris on a twisted ankle and broken ribs. "I know. I just started to worry that something had happened to you, too," said in a soft voice full of care for his brothers.

"We will always find each other, Aramis, no matter what," Athos replied, with nods from the other two.


	11. Chapter 11

Exhausted

Aramis had been working frantically for days. The influenza outbreak might as well have been the plague for the number of lives it had taken. Aramis' medical skills had saved quite a number of the poor Parisians who couldn't afford a doctor, but at what a cost.

He kept refusing to take the time to get some rest, afraid one of his patients would die while he slept. He had worn himself down so much, he couldn't seem to stay awake, his eyes unable to stay open. When Porthos and Athos had finally overridden his half-conscious objections and taken him back to the garrison, his body had by then been almost lifeless in Porthos' arms.

He had finally been too tired to carry on and collapsed in the run-down hovel where he had been desperately trying to save two children's lives. When he was aware of anything again, all he could feel was being held very close by two strong arms: Porthos, he instinctively knew, even though he was barely cognizant of anything else. His head snuggled closer into what must have been Porthos' shoulder before he was out again.

When next he was vaguely aware again, he felt wrapped in something warm and soft. He thought he might be in his bed, but his eyes still didn't want to open, so he didn't try. He felt hands ruffling his hair gently, and someone-Athos?-saying, "He is just very lucky he didn't succumb to the influenza he was saving everyone else from".

Another voice-d'Artagnan-worry lacing each word, was saying, "But Athos, it's been two days, and he hasn't shown any signs of waking up."

Aramis realized they were very concerned. Even Athos, while for the most part sounding his usual calm self, had a thread of panic in his voice. Still, Aramis wasn't quite aware enough to even remember what he had been doing to put him in this position. He just knew he was with his brothers and that was enough, as his mind again shut down in sleep.

When next he awoke, he tried harder to crack open eyes in a body that still craved the sleep it had been denied for so long. But where there was a will, there was a way, and this time he succeeded. He looked up into the worried eyes of Porthos, before sliding his eyes a little further to the side and finding Athos and d'Artagnan's expressions identical.

Frowning, he tried to say something, only to find that his mouth was too dry to utter a word. Porthos seemed to understand, because seconds later a cup was lifted to his lips by Athos, while Porthos held him high enough to drink, before laying him back down on the pillows.

"What happened?" asked the still-groggy Aramis.

"You tried to save half of Paris single-handed," Porthos responded, voice frustrated, but understanding Aramis' dedication.

Aramis' brows lowered a little more, trying to remember.

"Aramis, do you have any idea how many lives you may have saved in the past week or so? Whole families were coming down with the outbreak, and you plunged right in, irregardless of the threat to your own health," Athos told him.

D'Artagnan chimed in, saying, "The men at the gates have had an almost constant flow of things being brought for you. Mothers are bringing things they baked for you, fathers are bringing things from their shops, children just want to see the man who kept their parents alive."

Aramis, finally remembering, was speechless, which for him almost never happened.

"But Aramis," Porthos got his attention again, "just please don't do that to us again. We nearly lost you. Your work wore you down so much, you could have caught the influenza and died after giving so many people back their lives. It would have killed us, though, brother."

Aramis could see the tears in his brothers' eyes, their love for him. He felt incredibly blessed as his weary eyes shut once more.


	12. Chapter 12

Aramis and Porthos were patrolling in the district where all the fruit and vegetable vendors were selling their wares. This was normally a very quiet assignment, almost boring, so the two were trying to outdo each other with remembered exploits.

Suddenly, their pleasant day was broken into by a scream of pain, sounding like a small child. Aramis began running in the direction of the sound, increasing speed as he heard the scream again. Porthos was right behind him

Rounding a corner, they stared for one moment at the shocking sight before their eyes. One of the vendors, someone whose stall they had patronized in the past, was beating a small boy, who looked to be only 5 or 6. The child was lying on the dirt, his arms stretched over his head, trying to protect his face from the stick the vendor was wielding. He was now making small moaning sounds. Almost more shocking was the crowd of people standing around watching, doing absolutely nothing to intervene as a grown man terrorized the small boy.

Aramis, the first to reach the vendor, grabbed the stick out of his hands and hit him with it, before laying hands on the man himself. Reaching back his fist, he was prepared to hit the man again, before he realized he was imitating the violence. His hand slowly lowered back to his side, but he didn't let the vendor go.

Meanwhile, Porthos had picked up the stick discarded in disgust by Aramis,and slammed it over his knee, breaking it into pieces before flinging it down the alleyway behind him.

"What exactly did you think you were doing?" Aramis asked the vendor in a low, dangerous voice. "If it was because he was stealing a piece of your fruit, all you had to do was take the fruit back, not his back with it," anger barely in check as he spoke.

"I wanted to teach him a lesson, teach all the little thieves around here a lesson," the vendor replied.

"Look at him!" Aramis told him. "His ribs are sticking out! He can be no more than 5 or 6. He may not even have parents. This may be the only food he will have for some time. I know it's stealing, but he was probably desperate." He was still simmering, but at the same time trying to think of a way to peacefully diffuse the situation. Then, an idea came to him.

Raising his voice, he looked around the crowd still watching the proceedings.

"Does anyone with a cart need a few errands done, any work that this boy could do to earn enough for a few pieces of fruit?" he asked. He saw a lot of feet shuffling, but no one spoke up.

"Imagine if something had happened to you, and you had a young son who was starving because he suddenly had no parents to provide for you. None of you has anything he could do to help him to be able to eat?" looking into the faces in the crowd.

Finally, one middle-aged man stepped forward and said, " I need someone to go get some more produce for my cart. I don't dare leave it to do myself, and I don't have enough to keep business open much longer today. I will hire him."

Aramis stooped down to bring the young boy to his feet, then pointed to the man who just spoke. "This man will give you food if you do some chores for him. Is that all right with you?"

The little boy looked from Aramis to the man a few times, then slowly nodded his head. Aramis led him by the hand over to the man, who smiled at him, then took his hand himself. Aramis nodded his head to the man, then turned and headed back to the vendor who had caused the trouble.

Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, he said, "If I ever hear of anything like this happening again, I will personally come and seek you out, and you will not get off so easily. Is that understood?"

The man reluctantly nodded his head, not making eye contact.

Porthos moved over to the vendor's other side, laying his hand on his shoulder and saying, "And if he doesn't, I will, and I have a bigger temper," causing the man to try unsuccessfully to back away from the two Musketeers.

"All right, all right, I get it. I won't cause any more trouble," he told them. They let him go, turned around, and walked away.

"I don't think any of those vendors is going to step out of line again," Porthos said with a chuckle, throwing his arm around his friend's shoulders, as they went back to their assignment.


	13. Chapter 13

They were coming back from a mission about three day's ride from Paris. It had been a lovely autumn day, just the kind of weather and scenery that Aramis would usually wax poetic about. Towards evening, Porthos was just beginning to wonder what was the matter with his normally talkative brother, when Athos asked Aramis, "Is everything all right?"

Aramis answered, "I'm just tired." They all looked at him, as it was unusual for him to share what he considered a shortcoming.

Athos began looking for a place to camp for the night, when d'Artagnan said, "Look!"

They could all see an old, weathered barn in the distance down in the valley. It was surrounded by fields. If the could find the owner, they could spend the night under a roof, as it was getting chilly now as evening descended.

When they had drawn closer, they looked around, but didn't see any house or anyone in sight as far as the eye could see. Taking a chance, Athos said, "Let's bed down here. If the owner, by some chance appears, we can negotiate with him then."

Dismounting and drawing the wide doors open , they led their horses inside, not wanting to leave them out in the cold, either. They figured the horses could stay on one side of the wide structure, while they slept on the other.

But they were no sooner through the door, then d'Artagnan said, "Who is that?", pointing to a figure lying on the barn floor unmoving.

They cautiously approached, but as they grew closer, they could see that it was a young girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, and she appeared to be sound asleep. Aramis crouched down by her side, and reached out to touch her shoulder to awaken her. But, even through his glove, he could feel heat radiating off of her body. Concerned, he pulled his glove off, and felt her forehead.

"She is burning up-fever! Lifting her head and shoulders upon his lap, Aramis grabbed his waterskin and tried to wake her to drink some water. The girl groggily came to, looking up at them with a dazed look in her eyes. Aramis again tried to give her the water, and she drank a few sips before laying her head back down again.

Aramis said to his brothers, "You bed down for the night. I think I will stay with her. She is not doing well."

Athos said, "What about how tired you are," only to receive a silent glare from his brother. They all knew that when Aramis was in "medic mode", his own health went by the wayside.

They spread their blankets and lay down, watching Aramis with the young girl. He was stroking her arm, trying to put her at ease. Having four complete strangers in a remote barn with you would make any female cautious, he realized, as she continued to look up at him.

Then, he got an idea. He would tell her a story!

"There once was a young man who fell in love with a beautiful girl. He loved her long, red hair, the color of many of the leaves that adorned the trees in autumn. He loved to thread his fingers through the luxuriant curls falling past her waist."

He could see that he had got her attention, her eyes open and wide as she listened to his story.

"They would sometimes take a basket full of baked chicken, freshly-baked bread, apples and wine down to the lake for a picnic, just the two of them sitting beside the water the whole afternoon. He marveled that the color of his love's eyes was more lovely than even nature itself. He could drown in the blue he gazed upon, which rivaled even the blue of the summer sky. They felt like they were the only people in the whole world, and only had eyes for each other.

Her father finally gave him permission to marry her. They were married in a tiny stone chapel by a beaming, elderly priest. His bride was radiant, wearing a beautiful pink dress almost the same shade as the cherry trees that broke into bloom in the springtime, her face alight with love. Her parents, the only others present at the ceremony, smiled to see how happy he had made their daughter."

Aramis could see that, even though she was obviously very ill, his story could make her happy, as she continued to look up at him with rapt attention,a little smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

He continued. "Their married lives were spent each trying to outdo the other in giving of themselves to each other.

They had four children, who grew up in the security of a peaceful home with parents who doted on them.

They grew old together, gently and still as in love with eac h other as they had been at their lakeside picnics.

He sat by her her side as she lay dying in their old age. He was already grieving for his loss as he gazed at the face of the only woman he had ever loved. She still had her long, luxuriant hair, but now it framed her face in soft white curls, the color of snow lying on the ground at Christmas-time.

He saw her close her eyes for the last time, and leaned over to kiss her softly on her forehead, and make the sign of the cross on her forehead. Then, he lifted the blanket to cover her, tears falling silently as he did so. But he remembered all the love she had given him for so many years, and was at peace that she was now with God.

The girl, Marie, she had told him, finally closed her eyes again peacefully at the end of his story. Her breathing had evened out into sleep, and she looked at peace. Her fever had gone down, so he believed she might get better.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Athos said, "Well done, brother." He noticed then, that none of his brothers had slept. They were there with him as he stayed with Marie through the night. He was so blessed to have friends like this!

In the morning, they bundled Marie up and headed down the road to the nearest village. They figured she couldn't have come far in the condition she was in, and the were right. She was recognized the moment they entered the village. Her parents were sent for, and they burst into tears when they saw their lost daughter lifted down from where she had been riding with Aramis, thanking them profusely for helping her.

Before they left, Marie asked to see them one more time.

Standing at her bedside, she shly said, "Thank you for saving my life." Then, looking at Aramis, she whispered, "And thank you for the story. It was so beautiful, monsieur," and lifting herself up, she kissed him on the cheek.

Leaving, they hadn't gone very far when Porthos spoke up. "I don't believe it! Is there any situation he gets into where he doesn't have women falling for him-even Marie's age!" Laughing, they urged their horses faster down the road, home to Paris.

Just a little note for anyone who might not have any knowledge of classical music. The Four Seasons is the most famous piece of music by Antonio Vivaldiwritten about the four seasons of the year. I did take one liberty with history, as he was born in 1678, a little after our Musketeers time period. He was a priest and the greatest of the Baroque composers. He also taught music to a school of girls in the city in which he was born and lived, Venice, Italy.


	14. Chapter 14

_**This is a 2 or 3 part tag to Trial and Punishment. Given the way Rochefort was portrayed in the show, I was shocked that he didn't try anything when Aramis was in his hands.**_

When he had been taken out of the palace, the Red Guards' hands-off attitude abruptly changed.

Grabbing Aramis' arms and wrenching them behind his back, they shackled them tightly together. When they were barely finished, one of them shoved him forward with a fist in his back, saying, "Get going, Musketeer scum!"

Aramis had expected the rough treatment, but still stumbled. They grabbed him by the elbows, yanking him along as they headed for the Chatelet.

Aramis was not a fool. He knew he would be treated cruelly by the Musketeers' long-time enemies. He was very uneasy about what could happen to him out of sight in the prison, especially under Rochefort's supervision.

They reached the Chatelet, and led him through passageway after gloomy passageway. Then, they headed down two flights of stone steps, and Aramis' heartrate sped up. He knew the layout of the prison well, and he knew they were taking him to the most isolated part of the old prison-the dungeons, where no sounds could be heard in the rest of the building.

Reaching the dungeon area, they forced him along the barely-lit hallway to the very last cell.

Its door creaked as it was opened, and then he was roughly shoved inside, barely keeping his feet. They grabbed a length of chain that was attached to a thick ring on the wall, fastening them to his shackles, before kicking his feet out from under him. He fell, not having any way to soften his fall with his hands fastened behind his back.

Laughing, they left, one of them saying, "Enjoy your stay, Musketeer. We plan to entertain you well during your time here-until your execution!"

Using the wall, he sank down to a sitting position on the ground. He had no idea how he would get out of this one.

The odds against Athos and d'Artagnan being able to get to him were heavily stacked against them. Rochefort would like nothing more than for them to try. He would enjoy cutting them down before they ever reached him. He most likely had Red Guards manning every door between the entrance and his cell, just waiting and hoping for the opportunity.

Aramis was almost glad Porthos was far away at the moment. His friend would think nothing of the odds before throwing himself against however many heavily-armed Red Guards came at him. Aramis didn't want his friends to die.

He must have half-dozed off, then came wide-awake when his cell door was being unlocked.

He had wondered how long it would be before Rochefort showed his face.

The man walked into his cell with a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he stared down at Aramis.

"At last," he sneered. "You're mine to do with as I please. You will pay dearly for touching my Anne, Musketeer."

"She was never yours to begin with, Rochefort," Aramis quietly but defiantly answered.

Rochefort's face contorted with anger at his words. "You, a lowly Musketeer, dared to have relations with the Queen of France. I could have you transported to her brother in Spain with that information, and he would have you torn limb from limb for what you've done." Pausing, he continued softly, his voice hissing with his next words. "But I will punish you myself. You will wish you are dead before I'm through with you."

Nodding his head at his men, they pulled Aramis to his feet. Unlocking the shackles and pulling his arms in front of him, they fastened them together again before pulling them high above his head to lock them through a chain and metal loop that he hadn't noticed hanging from the ceiling. They then cut his doublet and shirt off.

Rochefort slowly sauntered around him, saying, "So this is the object of so many of the ladies of the Court. Pity they won't be able to see you when I finish with you."

"Now, we need to make sure nothing is visible when you appear for trial. It might cause sympathy for you in the minds of the judges, or it might appear that we decided to take the law into our own hands."

He paused. Then, "I wonder if you've ever been flogged before," Rochefort mused, the words sending a shiver of dread up Aramis' spine.

Rochefort was handed a long-handled black whip, which he proceeded to shake out, and then snapped it a couple of times in the air.

"I know it is used in the army for disciplinary purposes, and you," snarling up at Aramis, "have probably been a problem for your commanding officers in the past. You don't know your place..." rearing his arm back and hitting Aramis across the back, blood blooming on his skin.

Continuing, he said, "You don't respect your betters..." lashing out again.

"And you dare to put yourself on the same level as the Queen of France! How dare you!" the lash moving furiously now, over and over again.

Aramis had refused to make a sound when Rochefort started. But the lash was biting into his skin, causing him finally to scream. This was obviously what Rochefort wanted, as he increased his pace.

When Aramis passed out, Rochefort stopped, his expression showing he was disappointed to end his punishment.

Aramis limp body was taken down, and again chained to the wall. Then, he was left alone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rochefort continued to 'visit' Aramis in the next few days, always with a new form of torment. Aramis, in his lucid moments, wondered if the Comte had learned some of the torments from his time in Spanish prisons.

Rochefort continued to taunt, belittle and show his hatred for the

marksman each time he came.

"Tell me, Musketeer, how long did you plan to sleep with the Queen behind Louis' back?"

"How many furious husbands did you have to fight over the years?"

"I know all about you, Musketeer. Does Louis know that you have your Spanish mother's blood running in your veins-the blood of our enemy?"

"How did you stay alive at Savoy when all the others on your training mission were killed? Or did you conspire to help the attackers?"

He never seemed to run out of ways to try to get under Aramis' skin. But no matter what he said, Aramis kept silence. This made Rochefort even angrier, and he took it out on Aramis.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His 'trial', a farce in itself, was over. He had been found guilty. But, with Rochefort in charge and having the King's ear, that had never been in question.

The wheel. He had witnessed an execution once using the gruesome object. His heart clenched within him just at the thought of what he would go through.

They hadn't told him when his execution was to be. They wanted to keep his mind unsettled, he guessed.

He heard the cell door being unlocked again.

Before he had even entered, Aramis heard his voice.

Rochefort. Gloating.

"At last, I will be rid of you. None of your women will come to your execution. They prefer their lovers untouched, unmarked, shall we say?"

Making his way slowly around the cell, Rochefort continued, obviously enjoying himself immensely.

"She's mine now, Musketeer. She will remember how much we enjoyed each other's company years ago. She will learn to fall in love with me all over again," smiling as he looked down on the chained Musketeer.

"Your friends will not dare to try and invade this prison. You are alone, utterly alone, and will remain this way until we come to drag you to your execution. How the popular Musketeer has fallen!"

Kicking the helpless Aramis, he strode confidently back out of the cell door, banging it shut after him.

Aramis lay alone in the dark, dank cell, in the lowest level of the prison, far from his brothers, his beloved and his infant son, wondering how long he had before he was put to death.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Aramis had just prayed saying that he would give himself to God when he heard something explode. He had no idea what could make a noise loud enough to be heard even where he was.

What difference does it make what or where it is, he thought. I will be dead soon, he continued despondently.

Shortly after the explosion, he heard another sound,one that caused his head to whip rapidly around to look at the door to his cell.

Almost disbelieving, he watched as Athos swung the cell door open, keys dangling from his fingers, having stepped over the body of the guard stationed not far from his was right behind him.

"How..." Aramis began, only for Athos to quiet him, saying, " D'Artagnan has ptovided, shall we say, a little distraction. We will explain later. We need to move now," reaching down with a key to unlock Aramis' shackles. He swore when he saw the shape Aramis' wrists were in.

Once his hands were released, Porthos reached out to assist his brother to his feet, his efforts coming to an abrupt halt as Aramis let out an agonized cry of pain.

"Porthos growled, "I knew Rochefort would hurt him!" before asking Aramis, "How bad is it?"

"I can walk," he said with determination, but his voice shook with reaction.

Porthos looked highly doubtful, but once more tried helping his brother up. Aramis hissed in pain, but stubbornly persisted.

Once he finally made it to his feet, Porthos wrapped an arm around his shoulder to assist him, but Aramis cried out again.

Porthos, now worried sick at what could be wrong and exchanging a look with Athos, shifted his helping arm to Aramis' waist, and they silently began to make their way out of the cell and down the corridor. Athos led the way, pistol drawn.

Incredibly, it seemed to Aramis, they encountered no guards until they had arrived near the little-used back entrance. But his body began to betray him as he struggled to keep up with his brothers. Pain was shooting through his body from what he had endured at Rochefort's hands the past few days.

Their luck seemed to run out when two Red Guards, snarls on their faces, appeared and began stalking towards them, pistols a moment later, the snarls were abruptly changed to shock, as one was taken out by a suddenly appearing and fast-moving d'Artagnan, and then the other by Athos.

They moved through the door as quickly as possible, afraid that the sound of the pistols would attract other Red Guards.

Once they made it through the door, Aramis' body finally gave out, and he collapsed. Porthos caught him before he hit the ground, but he had already lost consciousness, his body now totally limp.

"Let us get him back to the Bonacieux home. Rochefort has obviously taken out his anger on him," Athos said, face grim, and eyes very worried now.

Porthos lifted his brother up into his arms, and they continued their escape. Sticking to the sidestreets and back alleys, they encountered no more opposition, closing the door behind them after Constance welcomed them into her home.

She took one look at Aramis and said, "This way," leading them down her hallway to d'Artagnan's old room when he had lodged with them.

Laying him down gently on the bed, they quickly but carefully divested him of his clothing, exposing the results of Rochefort's jealous wrath upon his captive victim.

There were cuts, burns, slashes scattered over a good portion of his body. But it wasn't until they had decided they had better check in back also that they saw the worst of the mad Comte's handiwork.

Bold angry red marks slashed their way into and across the flesh of his back.

"He flogged him!" Porthos angrily burst out. "I'll kill him!"

Athos and d'Artagnan were no less incensed, but didn't utter a word. Their eyes, however, expressed horror and anger, and a silent promise of retribution that now dwelt in all of them's hearts.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Once they had cleaned and bandaged his damaged body and given him some of his own pain medicine, his weary eyelids closed in the sleep his captivity and pain had denied him.

Aramis slept for several hours after the escape.

Finally awakening, he looked up into the worried eyes of his brothers.

His first words were to ask about Anne and their son.

"They are still at the palace, Aramis," Athos told him. "Rochefort emptied it of everyone else except his Red Guards. I believe they are still unharmed."

Aramis' face looked agonized at this news.

"She is all alone with that monster! I have to go..."

"Aramis, you are in no condition to go anywhere. We will take care of the situation," Athos said.

"She needs me. She probably thinks I'm dead already," the marksman continued. "I have to...," trying to lift his legs off the bed.

"Aramis, please. Lie down. We will get to her. I promise you," Athos swore.

Porthos and d'Artagnan echoed his promise. Aramis could see that he was going to get nowhere. They would not allow him. He sank back down onto the pillows, even the small amount of movement exhausting him.

But when his brothers had prepared their weapons and were heading for the door, Constance with them, he spoke up again.

"I am coming with you."

Athos, a look of slight exasperation on his countenance, responded, "Aramis, we have been over this already. You are in no shape to come with us. You can barely walk. How can you fight..."

"They will not get close enough to me that I will need to fight hand-to-hand," he said persistently. "Can you, any of you, shoot a firearm like I can?"

Aramis hadn't meant it as a boast, just fact. They all knew he was the best shot probably in the whole of France.

Still, Athos denied his coming once again. "We will not risk losing you, brother."

And then Aramis said quietly, "Once you leave, I will make my own way to the palace," his eyes pleading with them to understand that he had to come.

At this, Athos heaved a big sigh in defeat. "You know we cannot stop you once we are gone." Another sigh, then, "Very well, you may come. But please, Aramis, for our sakes, be as cautious with your life as possible. We nearly lost you once. We do not wish to face that prospect again."

Aramis, knowing how much his brothers loved him, nodded. Then, swinging his legs slowly and carefully over the side of the bed, he stood, trying his best not to sway to the side as he stood arming himself in preparation.

_**xxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**As you've read, I was not really happy with who rescued him. I understand that a lot of fans loved it, but just personally, I really didn't like the uncalled-for sarcastic comments the writers gave Milady, when he had just been expecting guards to be coming to drag him off to one of the most horrendous forms of execution ever invented.**_

_**I also think our guys would have come up with an alternate way for them to be able to get into the prison, so they could come and rescue Aramis. They could be very inventive during the series. This is just my take on that way.**_

_**The ending chapter of this tag will be a 'little' different, too. **_


	16. Chapter 16

The Musketeers and Constance went the back way into the palace, wary of being sighted by the Red Guards, many of whom were patrolling the perimeters of the palace grounds.

Reaching the upper floor, they discovered that it was true what they had heard, that all the courtiers and their wives, and all the servants, had been removed from the building, leaving only Rochefort and the Red Guards with the royal family.

Aramis quickly said, "I must go to the Queen," moving as he said so with Constance right behind him.

Athos and d'Artagnan took on Red Guards to clear a path for Porthos to bring Vargas to the King.

Aramis knew that what he witnessed as he came to Anne's doorway was an image that would be one he would never forget. Rochefort, kneeling behind Anne on her prie-dieu, had a garrotte around her neck that he was slowly tightening.

Advancing towards the comte with a drawn sword, "Aramis' voice was full of rage as he said, "Get away from her! She belongs to me!"

Rochefort, letting go of the garrotte, turned with a snarl to face the man he had tried to have put to death, the man Anne loved instead of him.

Drawing his sword, his face twisted with hate, Rochefort advanced on Aramis, attacking as soon he was close enough.

They fought each other no holds barred. At one point, Aramis lost his footing once, and Constance immediately stepped in to protect him. But Aramis regained his feet in an instant, slashing at Rochefort, as he told Constance to "Get back! Get back!" not wanting his friend to be hurt.

Constance moved back to stand with Anne again.

Rochefort began to goad Aramis, taunting him with, "You think you can save her? Why should the Queen be any different to the Cardinal's mistress? Or the Lady Marguerite? She took her own life because of you."

This infuriated Aramis, just as Rochefort intended that it should. They had now landed on the Queen's bed, still fighting.

Rochefort slashed Aramis' arm, drawing a hiss of pain from him, but a second later, stabbed Rochefort below the neck and downwards, a blow nearly always fatal.

Rochefort staggered as he stood up and headed for the door. Aramis slowly followed. Being both a seasoned soldier and excellent with a sword, and a medic who had treated many sounds, he knew Rochefort was a walking dead man, but wanted to keep an eye on him. Now that the fight was over, the injuries he had sustained from Rochefort in prison were making themselves painfully felt again.

As he reached the door to the room, he saw all three of his brothers, sword points aimed squarely at Rochefort, who feebly tried to take aim at them with his weapon.

Athos knocked him down, closely followed by Porthos' fist.

D'Artagnan motioned for them to back off, intending to finish the comte off for attempting to execute Constance.

Rochefort swung his way, once more lifting his sword to meet d'Artagnan's.

But as he took another hesitant step, Rochefort stumbled, nearly impaling himself on the Gascon's sword.

Another half-step, and he began to crumple, almost in slow motion, to the ground.

Once he hit the ground he lay there, staring straight ahead, death having finally come to the evil Comte.

The Musketeers sheathed their swords, then swung around, shocked to see Aramis crumpled on the ground near the Queen. Heedless of her expensive clothes, she knelt at his side, taking his hand in her own.

"No, Aramis, please don't leave me, querida", the endearment falling from her lips as her face revealed the depths of her love for him, not caring who saw it.

Athos laid his hand on Aramis' chest and, looking up a moment later, saying, "He has passed out, Majesty. This was too great an exertion after his ordeal in the Chatelet. He will be all right,"reassuring her.

"H..he saved my life. A moment longer...I would have been dead," an involuntary shudder passing through her as she glanced back at the dead Rochefort. It would take a long time to get the moment of being strangled out of her thoughts, she knew, and out of the nightmares she would probably have.

Aramis wasn't out very long. He awoke to the beautiful, but worried face of his beloved.

Reaching to touch her cheek, he told her, "I am fine. It is worth it just to look upon your beauty when I awaken," causing her, regardless of being queen, to blush with delight.

Athos and Porthos excused themselves to the queen and stepped around her to assist Aramis to his feet. Athos pointedly looked at Aramis' hand still wrapped around Anne's, and he reluctantly let go. They had no way of knowing if Louis would come in.

When they kept hold of him to assist him from the room, he found himself repeating,"I'm fine."

Snorting, Porthos responded, "Like the time you didn't tell us you had been shot until we had ridden for two days?"

"Or the time that man dropped from a rooftop, landing on you and breaking your arm and a couple of your ribs?," D'Artagnan chimed in. "We didn't know how badly you were injured until supper, when you suddenly slid off your chair and landed face first on the floor."

Athos had said nothing through this, just looking at him with that eyebrow raised.

Bowing and excusing themselves, they left her presence, Constance and Treville standing at her side, smiles on their faces at the antics they had just witnessed.

The threat had at last been eliminated, the royal family was safe.

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**Much different version, but this scene has bothered me since I saw it. **_

_**Back then, with the lack of modern medical expertise, from every source I checked, a blow like the one Aramis gave Rochefort would have killed him, maybe taking a few minutes to die. The show acted like d'Artagnan was the one who dealt the fatal blow more dramatically, like the all-out deadly fight before hadn't meant anything. Sometimes, the writing was fantastic for our show, and sometimes it, in my opinion, is wrong. And, of course, being an Aramis fan, I had wished that he and Anne could have had a moment after the near-deaths of both of them. **_

_** Just my long-overdue attempt to give this version. Thanks so much for reading!**_


	17. Chapter 17

This is a 2 or 3 part One-shot. This first chapter is very short, but I didn't have much time to write this week.

The day had started off well, Aramis dismally thought as he trudged along.

Treville had asked him to take a gift from the King to a highly-regarded nobleman at his estate. It had been a day going to the estate, a day of what Treville called relaxation, and a day back.

The mini-mission objective had been taken care of, and Aramis had been on his way back when something had badly startled his horse, not his usual mount but one he was using temporarily. The animal had taken off at a gallop, Aramis' pulling back of the reins not even fazing it as it flew along.

The horse had galloped right into the forest Aramis had seen long before they reached it, and then more trouble hit.

The horse swerved once again unexpectedly, a rabbit or some other ground animal darting swiftly across its path causing the horse to rear up.

Aramis, who was an excellent horseman, was unseated as the animal galloped on without him. Landing hard on some broken off branches and underbrush, he lay there for moment dazed, before slowly starting to get to his feet.

It was then that he found his right arm wouldn't support him. Examining it, he realized he seemed to have badly sprained it.

Switching to his left arm, he made it this feet.

Taking a look around, there were trees in every direction, with thick underbrush. Branches blotted out the sky overhead, so he couldn't tell the direction.

He had always loved forests and woodlands, ever since he had been a boy. He was a little apprehensive, though, at being on foot in a place he had never been before, and probably having to spend the night there. He still had bad memories of a time he had been left to die in the woods, and nearly did**. He firmly told himself, don't remember the past, just keep moving and find a way out of here.

Sighing, he decided he would just choose a direction and hope that it led him out of the forest, and added a prayer that it would be before nightfall.

He kept moving for what seemed like hours. At one point, he found a small creek, and was able to quench his thirst and rest for a short while.

Then he thought, maybe I can follow the creek and see if it leads out of here (but his treacherous thoughts continued, saying 'or further in').

They won't even realize anything happened until probably midday, he realized. He was supposed to be back this evening, bit when he didn't show, they would probably think he got delayed at the nobleman's estate. But when he didn't show the next morning, he knew that all three of his brothers would insist on coming to look for him.

With any luck at all, his horse would have headed back in the direction of the garrison. He had never known how most of the garrison horses had the ability to do that, but right now, he was hoping the one he had been riding had it, too.

Belatedly, he realized that he should be leaving some form of markers behind him to give them some idea as to where to look, once they hopefully had found and followed the trail that showed on the ground. His footprints had ceased to show when he had run into his present attempts to get through dense foliage, creepers and underbrush.

Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he quickly began to tear it into small strips. I'll use the bottom of my shirt when I run out, he thought.

Tying the first piece around the end of a low-lying branch, he then moved on, leaving one at different intervals as he walked.

A short while later, he decided to find somewhere to rest for the night, as it was becoming too dark to continue.

A stout oak trunk provided as much comfort as he was going to get, he decided, sitting down and leaning his head and upper body against it, before closing his eyes. He kept his weapons ready to hand in case some night predator decided he was an easy meal.

He was asleep very soon afterwards, his body exhausted and craving the rest he was at last providing it.

He didn't know what caused him to wake up very early the next morning. The only sounds he heard were what he had heard during the day, minus the now-sleeping birds, except for the occasional howls from hunting predators.

And then he saw it.

Aramis froze.

Sprawled over his lower left arm was a snake, its black eyes fixed on him as he looked back.

Aramis heart thudded as he recognized its markings. Poisonous, he thought.

At that thought, the next one rapidly followed. I have to get it off of me before it strikes.

My main gauche, his mind scrambled to make a plan of action. With the thought, his free hand inched forward to grasp it's handle.

Unfortunately, the snake felt the slow, slight motion Aramis was trying to use to get to the dagger, and it struck.

Aramis felt the fangs enter his flesh right below his elbow, screaming as the fangs injected the snake's venom into him.

He slashed at the reptile, cutting off its head but too late.

As the venom began it's deadly work immediately, Aramis quickly used his main gauche to slice into the wound. Next, took his sash off with fingers that were trembling from the effects of the bite, and tied it tightly around his forearm above the wound. He bent his head down, and did his best to suck the poison out of the bite.

Leaning back afterwards, he could feel his heart racing, and a pounding headache beginning. The area around the wound was red and puffy, and the pain was excruciating. He knew the effects of the bite would get worse, and probably very soon.

He hoped and prayed with all his heart as he began to pass out, that his brothers would come, and come very soon. Before it was too late.

TBC

**Refers to an earlier fanfic of mine called Concealed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry this is such a short chapter. I had intended it to be longer, but life got in the way this week.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had indeed figured, as Aramis had known that they would, that Aramis had just had a delay to his returning, so had looked forward to his return the next day. And when he hadn't shown up by midmorning, the requested and received permission to ride out and search for him.

Treville gave his permission with a stern face, but none of his Inseparables were fooled for a moment. Their captain had always had a special place in his heart for his first Musketeer.

It took but a few minutes to prepare, and then they were off, moving rapidly out through the garrison gates in search of their beloved brother, hoping nothing had befallen him to prevent his return.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis awoke a short time after passing out, pain encompassing his entire body. He had no way of knowing if his attempt to draw out the venom had been entirely successful or not, whether he would live or die.

He knew that often, even if the venom was extracted, the effects could stay with the victim afterward. He had a fever and felt incredibly weak in addition to the pain.

Only one thing kept his focus. He just hoped and prayed hard that his brothers would find him before it was too late.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His brothers found Aramis' exhausted horse standing in a field munching grass near the road the marksman had said he would take. The horse became uneasy as they approached.

They found no signs of any injury to their brother on the horse or saddle.

Leaving the horse to continue grazing, they started examining the road on both sides in the direction he would have been riding from, hoping to find tracks or some other evidence to point them in the right direction.

After more than an hour of searching, d'Artagnan found horse's hooves heading away from the road. Following the tracks, they led the Musketeers right into a forest they had seen ahead of them.

The woods were dark and quiet as if nothing untoward could be happening within it. Birds were singing and chirping, here and there small ground animal's skittered away to cover as they approached.

They had already surmised that something had badly startled his horse, so badly that Aramis had been unable to control him, despite his skills as a horseman.

Continuing to follow the tracks, they had come to a place where the ground had been badly disturbed. They could see a large indentation in the grass and undergrowth, as if something might have landed there.

Aramis! And their worries suddenly tripled.

D'Artagnan found the tracks, and their search continued. They followed the footprints for quite a ways before they ran out when they ran encuntered dense out, they hunted for anything that might give them a clue as to whether he continued onwards in the same direction or veered to the right of left.

It was again d'Artagnan who discovered something.

"Here!" he shouted, and Porthos and Athos rushed over to join him.

"See?" the Gascon told them. "He's leaving a trail tying bits of cloth to branches where he thinks we will see them. Eye level," pointing to the bit of fabric he had found.]They began searching the branches now, and following the trail Aramis had left.

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Aramis thought he must have dozed off. He was barely awake when he heard it. His whole body froze.

Howling.

He began to tremble, remembered fear coursing through his ! he whispered within, his worst living nightmare filling all his thoughts.

I can't…can't go th..through the..this again, he thought, trying to get to his feet, only to sink down again when his body was to weak and in pain to cooperate.

The howl came again, much closer this time. Aramis began to pray fervently.

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His brothers heard the howling looking sharply at each other with faces full of fear. They all remembered another forest where they had very nearly lost their brother.  
He had gone through nightmare after nightmare before they gradually eased up, and finally ceased.

Each of them had suffered the occasional nightmare also, seeing again the scene when they had found him, Athos particularly. He had been ahead of Porthos and d'Artagnan, so had witnessed it first. None of them would ever forget it.

And now, what would this go to their brother?

"Quickly!" Athos said, overwhelming urgency in his voice. "We have to find him...Now!"

Running in the direction the howls had come from, they could only hope they got there in time.

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Aramis' head was swiveling around, trying to see any sign of the animal's presence, sword clutched tightly in one hand, main gauche in the other, his only protection.

Words of prayer fell from his lips, eyes wide and watchful.

And then, he saw it.

Eyes glittered as the wolf emerged from between the trees and bushes, staring at Aramis.

Instinct made the marksman try to shrink back, it he was already against the old oak and could go no further.

His grip tightened on his weapons, breath coming fast in gasps now.

The wolf seemed to be in no hurry, as if it knew his prey couldn't go anywhere.

Aramis fervently prayed that at least it was a lone wolf, remembering the three from before.

And then it howled, sending shivers up his already rigid spine.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan moving as close as they could to an all-out run, knowing they still needed to be careful not to get tripped up by creepers and tree roots that were half-covered by the underbrush.

They heard the wolf howl again, and then burst through some trees to suddenly be presented by a sight they never wanted to see again.

Aramis' was attempting to jab at the creature with his rapier, but his arm didn't have any strength in it. The wolf easily swerved around it, making straight for Aramis' body.

All three of his brothers took aim and fired.

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_**I may have another chapter sooner than the weekend if all goes well. We will see. **_

_**I've had several pm's about the snake bite and effects on Aramis' body, which I hope to clear up then, too. **_

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	19. Chapter 19

The wolf, hit by all three bullets, dropped suddenly and heavily across Aramis' upper legs.

Aramis, whose whole attention had been riveted on the threat to his life, stared at the creature, sword still gripped tightly in his hand, as if somehow the wolf might again spring up at him.

Then, he heard Porthos' voice, "Aramis", spoken softly, as if not to startle him. It had actually been the second time Porthos called his name, the traumatized marksman not recognizing anything but the scene in front of him the first time.

Aramis slowly turned his head, eyes blowing wide as he beheld his brothers walking cautiously towards him. They didn't want to startle him, especially with a sword in his hand.

When it finally sank in that his brothers were really there at last, Aramis did something they had never witnessed him doing before. A very shaky arm reached out towards them, as his sword fell heedlessly to the ground.

His brothers were surrounding him in seconds, Porthos taking the outstretched one in his own and squeezing gently.

Athos and d'Artagnan began searching their brother for injuries, knowing he would not have been fighting the wolf in a vulnerable sitting position unless something was very wrong.

The first thing they noticed was the snake's body to the far side of Aramis. Hunting further, they soon found the head, apparently flung as far away as possible by their brother. They were all aware that the head of a recently-killed snake could still bite. *

They noticed how Aramis was holding his left arm close to his body. What was wrong with his arm, they wondered, as Athos reached out and gently brought the arm away from his brother's body.

Turning it over, they discovered to their horror that it was swollen and discolored from being bitten. They could see the fang marks in the middle of the area.

"Aramis!" he said again when his brother didn't appear to have heard him.

This time, Aramis wearily opened the eyes he had closed.

"Aramis, did you get the venom out?"

Aramis, dazed with pain, frowned at the question.

Athos asked him again. "Did you get the venom out, Aramis?"

This time, the marksman gave a faint nod. His voice, whisper soft, said, "I..I think so. S..sucked it ou..out," eyes shutting once again.

His brothers looked at each other, stunned at the events that had happened, all by animals. Aramis' horse spooked, probably by some ground mammal. The snake's bite. The wolf attack. They were all thankful that he had survived the sequence events that had befallen him.

They got to work tending to his injury, hopeful that he wouldn't regain consciousness before they had finished.

The snake bite was thoroughly washed clean and wrapped in clean white cloths.

They had thought that was the only injury until Porthos moved his other arm to check his torso for signs of anything else. Aramis let out a small whimper, and instinctively tried to pull the arm closer.

They examined the arm and found no physical marks and no broken bones. They concluded that he must have sprained it, maybe in his fall.

They decided to start back the next morning, to let Aramis have a night's rest.

But night was to turn out to be anything but restful.

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A couple of hours after they had settled down to sleep, with Porthos keeping watch over Aramis, the marksman lashed out, trying to move away from the tree. He was too weak, though, to really do anything.

Porthos said, "Aramis, what's wrong, mon ami?"

Aramis didn't hear him, his body movements becoming more frenzied.

Athos and d'Artagnan, by this time, had awakened and joined them.

Aramis began to plead, "Not..not again! Pl..please, not again!"

Athos said, "I was afraid of this, hoping it would not happen. He is re-living what he just went through. Two wolf attacks could cause this in anyone."

Saying quietly to Aramis, "The wolf is dead, Aramis. We killed it. You are all right," all the while threading his fingers through Aramis' hair in an attempt to soothe him.

Aramis was now silent, but they could still feel him trembling.

"It took quite a while, but at last, he fell asleep.

They were afraid this wasn't something he would get over soon.

It happened once more that night, leaving Aramis and his brothers shaken. He woke up screaming. It again took some time to calm him.

Porthos ended up just lying down next to him in the hope that it would create what Aramis would feel was a safe haven.

It worked, and Aramis slept quietly the rest of the night, for which his brothers were very thankful.

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Next morning, they left the scene that had been such a horror for carried Aramis as they made their way back out of the forest.

Emerging into the bright daylight again, they headed for their horses, which being highly trained Musketeer mounts,had remained in the area overnight grazing.

Porthos wanted Aramis to ride with him, but Athos said the marksman would be riding with himself. He could see how tired Porthos was, after staying up all night and then carrying Aramis through the woods.

The trip back was not too long. Aramis slept most of the time. He seemed not to suffer the nightmares when he had one of his brother's arms surrounding him, making him feel safe. He still had a fever and and his forearm was still swollen around the bite area, though, so Athos wanted Treville to have Lemay sent for to examine it.

As they rode in through the garrison gates, Treville came down the steps from his office, meeting them halfway across the courtyard.

"What happened to him?" he demanded.

"Horse. Snake. Wolf." Porthos responded.

Treville's eyebrows raised. "I need a report," "he said.

"As soon as we get Aramis settled, Captain," Athos responded. "We need Dr. Lemay's services. Aramis was bitten by the snake," causing the Captain's brows to again raise, and his brows to furrow.

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Lemay came no more than an hour later.

Looking down at Aramis, he said, "How does he get injured so often?"

Athos just shrugged.

Lemay closely examined Aramis' bite location. It was a little less red and puffy now, a sign of healing.

Turning to the others, he said, "It appears that he may have sucked all the poison from the wound. I believe his symptoms may be from an allergic reaction, possibly from the snake's saliva. He should recover now. He needs to take it easy, though.

"Keep an eye on him about the nightmares. Please continue holding him when they happen, as it gives him a sense of safety.i. This is a very rare occurance to have happen twice in a relatively short space of time. His mind may be having trouble handling it." I honestly don't know how I would react if it had happened to me. I would say he is blessed to have friends such as yourself, who seem to instinctively know what will help him with it.

Please send for me at once if you find any complications. Gentlemen, good day."

Thanking him, the good doctor then took his leave.

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His brothers continued their vigil, as the nightmares continued. His body was healing, but his mind remained traumatized.

When they came, one of them was always there to soothe him.

They were at their wit's end trying to think of a way to give him release from them.

They knew they would not be able to continue without having to be on duty indefinitely. The cardinal would see to that.

Once he heard that several of the Musketeers weren't on guard at the palace of on missions, the man would insist to Louis that they were shirking their duty and getting paid for it.

All three of them were loyal to their king and country, but none of them would abandon their brother either.

They thought that Treville might be forced to order them to duty, but that was before the night Treville came into the infirmary to witness their efforts to hold still a wildly struggling, screaming Aramis.

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*Just a note about snakes' heads. Yes, they sometimes do bite after they are killed. My sister lives in the Arizona desert. A friend of her and her husband had killed a rattler near his pickup truck. He went to do something, and when he came back to the truck, the head bit him! She has heard of others, as well.

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_**I didn't start out with the idea of this many chapters. It has just grown as I write it!**_


	20. Chapter 20

Opening the door, Treville watched as Aramis' brothers gradually calmed him down to the point that he finally fell asleep.

"Does this happen often?" he asked.

"Too often," Athos replied. "It disrupts his rest, which he desperately needs to assist his healing."

"I had come to let you know you have guard duty at the palace tomorrow. I suspect the Cardinal had something to do with it," unconsciously revealing that he thought just like them in regards to the Cardinal possibly meddling with his men's care of Aramis.

"I am going to talk to Louis tomorrow morning. Seems the Cardinal has a short trip tomorrow that will take him out of Paris for two days, do he will not be around to disturb us as I tell Louis what has been going on.

"Please continue your care, and if you need anything, let me know," leaving as he finished speaking.

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Porthos was sitting with Aramis a couple of days later and several nightmares later, and had nodded off as his brother slept. He hadn't meant to, but they had all lost quite a bit of sleep lately. Even though they divided up their time with Aramis, none of them were sleeping soundly, wanting to be there if the nightmares came again.

Aramis awoke with a start, finding himself in darkness. I need to try to get back, he told himself. My brothers are going to be worried about me, he thought, thinking he was in the woods yet.

Managing to pull himself up into a sitting position, he looked around again. In his mind, he saw trees everywhere he looked. He didn't know which direction to take.

It was then that he heard it. A low growl. Swinging his head wildly around, searching, he didn't see anything. But he heard it when it snarled somewhere close by.

"No!" he whispered to himself. Swinging one leg shakily off the bed, he pushed the rest of his body forward. Once he was sitting on the edge of the bed, he put his hands on the mattress on either side of him, and pushed again.

He stood upright for a mere second or so before collapsing, landing in a graceless sprawl on the floor.

Porthos, the sound awakening him at last, flew out of his chair and knelt by his brother.

Panic in his expression, he laid his hand on Aramis' cheek, saying softly but urgently, "Aramis!" And once more, "Aramis!"

Finally, he saw some slight movement from his brother, as Aramis tried to shift his body, his hands reaching out to scrabble for purchase on the wood of the floor as he once again attempted to flee the animal he perceived coming after him.

Porthos, realizing that Aramis was desperate with fear, and knowing from his nightmares just what that fear was, reached under his struggling brother, and pulled him into his lap as he sat on the floor.

Speaking softly, he said, "There is no wolf here, mon ami. We are in the infirmary. In the garrison. The door is closed. Athos and d'Artagnan will be back with supper in a few minutes. You do not need to be afraid, Aramis."

"But…but I heard it. It..it was here." The scenario was frighteningly like the previous wolf incident months ago, when Aramis had also heard a wolf, and nearly walked to the rocky bank of a swift-moving creak to escape it.

"No," Porthos responded, "it is your dreams. You have been reliving what happened. The nightmares have been relentless since we found you. We killed it, Aramis. All three of us shot at the same time. It's dead. You are all right."

Aramis was silent for so long, he had Porthos worried about that, too. The marksman's head was down, and he was unmoving.

Athos and d'Artagnan had slipped back in the door now, and were listening, silent as they didn't want to interrupt the tableau in front of them.

Finally, just when Porthos was pondering what he should do next, Aramis spoke.

Quietly, he said, "Thank you," looking up now into his best friend's eyes.

"You don't have to thank me, Aramis, or any of us. You would do the same if we were in trouble."

"Not…not for just killing to the…killing it. For taking care of me. For saving me from my nightmares. For…" stopping for a moment, shakily raking his hand through his hair.

Looking up into Porthos' eyes, then turning his head slightly to include his other brothers, who had thought they had gone unnoticed, he went on.

"For pulling me back from the death I thought I was headed for. For being the brothers I love more than my own life."

All three of them were incredibly moved by his words. It was a highly emotional moment. They were also giving silent and profound thanks that he was awake and alert, something that had been an unvoiced fear gripping all of them's hearts.

Again, there was silence from them all.

Then, Athos said, "We should probably get you back into bed, Aramis."

But Aramis, on hearing this, and before they realized what he was going to do, suddenly pushed himself off the floor.

For a moment, they were stunned that he got as far as he did. He made it off the floor, almost to his knees.

But then, almost in slow motion, his body collapsed. Porthos stopped him from having a hard meeting with the wood of the floor, holding him tightly, partly to keep his brother from possibly trying it again, and partly because they had just too close to losing him. "Of all the stubborn...," stopping when Athos held up his hand.

Athos spoke for all of them when he said, "You do realize this was just a little too soon to do this, Aramis, do you not?"

At the small nod from his brother, he let up and said softly, "Let us care for you until you are truly well enough to do for yourself?"

They were expecting him to say 'I'm fine' or come variation of it. So they were really thrown when he hung his head, saying, "I'm sorry."

"Aramis, we are not angry with you. We just know that you put everyone possible before yourself. We want you well again," Athos told him, breathing a sigh of relief when his brother nodded as he raised his head to look from one face to the other.

Athos, his eyes still on Aramis, reached out his hand palm down. Aramis responded, doing the same, followed by Porthos and d'Artagnan. All for one.

Porthos took that as a signal to lift his brother back up into the bed, fussing over him as he logged the rumpled blanket over him.

Athos headed for the door, with the intent of informing Treville of their good news.

D'Artagnan quickly took a seat on the chair next to the bed, grinning up at Porthos as he said, "My turn!"

Porthos, sighing in defeat, said, "I'll go see what Serge can rustle up for us to eat," looking down with a smile at Aramis.

Aramis smiled back. He knew his brothers well, and they had proved again how well they knew him, and loved him as much as the love he had for them.


	21. Chapter 21

_**This will be another 2-3 part one-shot. **_

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Aramis, at the moment, wished he listened a little more once in a while to his brothers' advice.

They said 'don't get involved'.

'Don't rush into things'.

They said 'sometimes he got in trouble when he should just keep quiet'.

In hindsight, he realized that in this particular instance, they were right. But it was too late now, he thought ruefully, looking down at the blood sweeping over his hands where they were attempting to stop the bleeding in his abdomen.

I meant well, though, his thoughts continued, as he sat in the middle of an otherwise peaceful field of green grass, sheep ignoring him as they munched away.

His thoughts then brought him back to earlier in the day.

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He had been given a couple of days off, and had promptly headed out of Paris to spend a day or two with a a young family who had graciously extended an invitation to stay with them if he was ever in the area. He had provided them some assistance when a pickpocket had relieved the couple of what little coin they had, and had returned it to them.

He had been delayed almost a day of that time on the road, when his horse threw a shoe, and he had needed to get it taken care of.

Ah well, he thought. Down one of his two days. But optimistically, he still looked forward even to one day of tranquility was better than none, looking around at the quiet, beautiful countryside full of grass and trees.

As he rode onto the small farm, his neck began to prickle, and he felt uneasy. He didn't know yet what was causing the feeling. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was quiet.

He dismounted, heading for the door of the farmhouse and knocking. Silence. He tried once more, with no response, no sound.

Well, he thought, there goes a nice quiet countryside day.

Mounting up again, he turned his horse around and slowly rode away.

Heading back down the road, he got a mile or so away when he got the niggling feeling again. Pausing, he thought, it's probably nothing.

All the same, he stayed where he was, uncertain if he should go back.

Finally making up his mind, he nudged his horse around and made his way back to the farm.

When the house and barn were within eyesight, he immediately knew he had made the right decision, as he saw several men herding the helpless family out the door of it the house.

Reaching for and pulling his pistol from it's holster, he kneed his mount faster, heading right for the group.

Reaching them and dismounting, he unsheathed his sword as his feet hit the ground. Stalking forward, he demanded, "What is going on here?"

There were three men with the family, and and now another two emerged from the barn, aiming pistols at him. One of them stood out from the rest, his attire immediately proclaiming him a nobleman.

Aramis had the unpleasant realization that maybe he should have lingered a few moments on the property's outskirts to watch and see what had been giving him the internal warning. Now, it was definitely too late, and he was up against too many odds.

He didn't lower his pistol, and they didn't either. To richly-dressed man in the second group of men who had come from the barn said, "Drop your weapons!" his voice ringing with authority.

Aramis stood his ground.

The man nodded, and a pistol was leveled at the woman's head. Aramis then heard a distinct click, and saw the poor woman flinch in terror.

Dropping his weapons, he slowly raised his hands in the air. He repeated his question. "What is going on?" he demanded.

"Not that it's any of your business, but we've come to retrieve something that belongs to me," the man said.

Aramis persisted, "Let these people go.

One of the others came over and said something in his ear. The nobleman's head swiveled swiftly back to Aramis, eyes searching him from head to foot and finally lingering on Aramis' shoulder where his pauldron was.

"Aw, so a King's Musketeer has come nosing around into private business. You are going to be very sorry you interfered in my private business," firing his pistol as he spoke. The captive woman screamed.

Aramis, shock at the unexpected shot registering on his face, clutched with both hands at his abdomen where the bullet had hit him. Then slowly, as his knees gave way, he slid to the ground.

Vaguely, as he lay there, he heard hooves under him, and a jarring motion that tore at his abdomen. Then, he was conscious of nothing.

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When Aramis at last came back to consciousness, it was to a blurry green landscape.

Lying still, he waited until his vision gradually came back to him.

He was in a field. There was no one around as far as his eyes could see, just sheep. Of the group he had encountered at the farmhouse, both the bad ones and the farm couple, there was now no sign.

A cramp in his leg caused him to move, and instantly, his abdomen's pain increased.

Seeing the amount of blood under and around him, he realized he had better attempt to take care of the wound. He knew most people died of wounds in the abdomen. He was no fool, and knew how bad his chances were, when there was no one who could help him.

As he slowly moved enough to tear a piece from his shirt and began to wrap it around the wound, the pain ratcheted up even more, his breath coming now in gasps as he stubbornly tried to ignore it and continue. Once he was finished, he collapsed back to the ground, waves of nausea now joining the pain in his body.

He hoped the makeshift bandage would help to stem the bleeding, or he wouldn't ever make it out of this field alive.

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He had been drifting in and out of consciousness, not really knowing any more what day or time it was.

He knew he could die if he couldn't get up and out of the field and find help, but his body wouldn't allow him.

And that was when he heard movement close by.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Just a heads up. I do not write death fics.**_

**_xxxxxxxxxxxxx_**

Aramis automatically tensed up on hearing someone nearby.

"Who's there?" he called, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

No reply.

There was nothing he could do. His body wouldn't allow him to move.

Then, a small, young voice asked, "Are you going to die, Monsieur?"

The young boy from the family he had attempted to help bent down over him, face scrunched up in fear and confusion as he looked down at Aramis' face.

Aramis could feel his cramped muscles relaxing as he beheld the boy.

He spoke quickly to allay the boy's fears.

"I hope not, young man."

He asked him, "What happened..to your mother and f..father?" realizing belatedly that he probably shouldn't have asked, considering what was happening when he had seen them. His breath hitched as he spoke, despite his efforts to prevent it. He really didn't want to scare this young boy.

But the boy was already answering, tears now dripping down his face.

"They took them away. I don't know where they are. I'm afraid, Monsieur," his voice now shaking with emotion as he spoke. "The bad men said I couldn't come."

"It's.. all right," Aramis said, wishing he could wipe the tears away and give him some comfort, and hoping his parents had come to no harm. "M..maybe my friends will come, and they w..will get your p..parents back."

The boy looked at him for a long moment, hope mixing with sorrow.

Then, realizing that this could be the answer to his unspoken prayers, Aramis continued. "You c..could help me a little while you're w..waiting for them to return."

The boy answered, "How could I help a Musketeer? You are all strong. And smart. And..."

Aramis gently interrupted, realizing the boy's father must have told his son about his coming for a visit.

Smiling through his pain, Aramis asked, "Do you think…" stopping when a particularly vicious stab of pain shot through him, causing him to gasp from it.

"Monsieur?" the boy said, worry filling his little face even more.

"It's.. all right," Aramis breathed out the words slowly. "It just h..hurts," wishing the boy didn't have to see the blood all over him, his clothes and the ground.

Trying now to divert the boy's attention a little, he asked him his name.

"Emile," the boy told him, "and you're Aramis. My papa told me."

"Emile, I w..wouldn't ask this of you if I d..didn't have to. But I am unable to m..move myself right now."

"I want to help," Emile replied, with the usual eagerness of children when an adult gave them responsibilities.

"The..that's good, Emile," Aramis said. "Now, l..listen carefully. C..could you go t..to your farm, and g..get an old sh..shirt of your p..Papa's maybe. I c..can tear f..for bandages. And a sm..small bucket of w..water? C..can you do that?"

Emile nodded his head, unconsciously straightening with pride that he could be a help to a grown man, and not just any grown man, but an actual Musketeer!

"I can do it! I'll be right back!" he said, turning and running back towards his farm as he spoke.

Aramis figured the men probably wouldn't return, even if they let Emile's parents go. They wouldn't know but what more Musketeers might show up. But just in case he was very wrong with his hunch, he began to pray for Emile-and himself.

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With all the energy of a typical young boy, it didn't take long for Emile to reach his family's house.

Going inside, he raced into his patients' bedroom, and straight to the old rickety chest-of-drawers their clothes were in.

Flinging them out of the drawers in his hurry, he soon found an old shirt of his papa's. Clutching it to his chest, he ran back out of the house, leaving the mess he had made on the floor.

He headed for the well. His mama sent him to get her extra water sometimes, when his papa was out in the field, do he was familiar with how it was so done.

Laying the shirt on the ground, he lowered the bucket down the well.

He was just about to pull it back up again, when he heard horses approaching. He froze.

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Aramis was still unable to move without racheting up the pain. He had tried. Once Emile had left on the errand he had sent him on, he had felt guilty for asking a young boy to go and do it.

So, he had once more attempted to get to his knees, hoping that if he did, he could somehow reach his feet. But the agony it gave him caused him to pass out after only two tries.

He lay there, looking up at the puffy white clouds drifting across a brilliant blue sky, around him a beautiful green landscape of trees and grass. Ordinarily, he delighted in the beauty of nature, but at the moment, it only reminded him that he was alone and in danger of possibly succumbing to his injury, with only a young boy to help.

But still, he prayed fervently for the boy's safety. Help him to return to me safely, Lord. Don't let anything happen to him.

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Emile saw horses approaching him, and shrunk back, afraid they were more of the bad men who took his mama and papa, and shot the Musketeer, Aramis.

They came across towards the well, silent. They had a lot of weapons on them, he thought, the thought scaring him even more.

The youngest one of them saw his fear, and said, "We are not here to harm you."

The boy looked at the other two.

One of them looked down upon him with a stern face partially hidden by his hat, which had been tilted downwards.

The other one was a giant of a man, and he, too, was silent.

The youngest dismounted, hands held away from his body to show the boy he meant no harm.

"Are your parents here?" he asked, looking around him as he spoke.

"Bad men took them," the boy replied.

"What bad men? How long ago?"

"D'Artagnan," admonished Athos, "one question at a time. He is frightened."

"D'Artagnan knelt down in the dust to come down to the boy's level, saying softly, "It's all right. We are the King's Musketeers, and…."

The boy, now excited, said, "Are you looking for Aramis?" causing all three of them to look at each other.

Athos now took over. "We are his brother's. He failed to return when we expected. Is he here?"

"He's hurt bad! He asked me to come get some water and one of my papa's old shirts."

Alarm registered on all three of them's faces.

"Show us where he is," Porthos told the boy.

The boy started to turn around to lead them to Aramis, when he suddenly stopped.

"He needs water!" the boy cried, going towards the well.

"We will get the water," d'Artagnan said, beginning to pull the rope holding the bucket up. D'Artagnan remounted, the boy handing up the now-filled bucket.

Once the water was collected, the boy turned and practically ran in the direction from which he had left Aramis.

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Coming over a gentle rise, they were horrified to see their brother lying motionless in a wide expanse of grass, totally motionless, eyes closed, and blood on his clothing, his hands, and the grass beneath him.

**TBC**


	23. Chapter 23

Aramis drifted in and out of consciousness in the field.

Each time he reawakened, the pain seemed to have ratcheted up more. There was nothing he could do that he hadn't already done.

Thoughts floated through his mind. His brother's faces. Anne. Their son. He loved them all so much.

But he would never see them again. Never laugh and joke with his brothers. Or ride out on missions. Never see their smiles. Porthos' bear hugs. That raised eyebrow of Athos. D'Artagnan's energy and enthusiasm.

Anne. His beautiful Anne. He would never look upon the face of the woman he loved again. She was going to be heartbroken, as he was now.

His son. He would never have the chance of seeing him grow up to be a man he would be proud of. His son would never know his father's love for him.

He felt moisture on his cheeks. Tears had begun to fall, as he was realizing to himself that he was dying. Dying alone in a field on an otherwise beautiful spring countryside. Alone.

He had always enjoyed some moments of peace and quiet. Solitude. But not the enforced kind that surrounded him now.

He wished so badly to at least have his loved ones there when he passed. But there was no one as far as his eyes could see. Just grass, trees, sheep, blue sky.

His sight was getting blurrier now.

He prayed the prayer for the dying, telling God how much he loved Him, and commending his soul to Him.

As he once again felt himself losing consciousness, he wondered if it was for the last time.

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When Aramis' brothers came over the rise and saw the sight below them, they all three nearly had heart seizures.

Aramis was laying semi-curled up in the grass, eyes closed. His hands were wrapped around his middle, legs drawn up, almost in a fetal position. There was a frightening amount of blood on him, and on the ground around him.

Practically leaping to the ground instead of dismounting, all three of them flew down the hill to their brother.

Kneeling down around him, Athos knew he was going to have to be the one to check for his brother's pulse. It was a job he wished with all his heart wouldn't always fall to him. He was quite literally afraid of what he might find-or rather, not find.

Lifting his hand, he found it to be trembling. Nothing in the world ever caused that sensation, except fear for his brothers' lives.

Hesitating a moment, he took a deep breath, aware without glancing up that the eyes of Porthos and d'Artagnan were riveted on his action as he once more lifted his hand.

This time, he reached out slowly to press two fingers against the side of Aramis' neck to detect a sign of a pulse.

Nothing.

No. That could not be.

His heart nearly stopped. He knew that his brothers were waiting with hearts that were every bit as panicky as he was, so he steeled himself to try again.

Wiping away a stray tear that had found its way down his cheek, he once more reached out, hesitating right before touching his brother's neck again.

Nothing!

He couldn't move, couldn't speak, eyes now closed, frozen at the possibility that they had lost him.

But then, a tiny whisper of a movement under his fingers caused his eyes to fly back open.

He felt it again. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Then, looking up at his brothers, nodded his head, a wisp of a smile beginning to appear on his face.

Then, he began to take action.

"Let us lay him flat. We need to take care of his injury quickly."

They gently maneuvered him to lay flat, but not without eliciting a deep groan from their brother, who unconsciously tried to curl up against the increase in pain it caused him. Hating that they had to do it, they once more laid him flat on the ground, knowing the pain it caused by the tiny whimpers they could hear.

Once they had opened his doublet and shirt, they all three nearly exploded in fury. Someone had shot him in the stomach (a gut shot, as it was known in the army) from fairly close range, and left him to die out here alone.

Why? they questioned to themselves silently. What had he seen or interrupted?

But that would have to wait. They needed to focus every bit of their attention on saving their brother's life. They knew this type of wound had a very high casualty rate. Most men did not survive one.

The wound had begun to bleed again when they had moved him. Hurriedly yanking off his scarf, Athos pressed it against the wound and held it there. Porthos and d'Artagnan tore off sections of their shirts for bandages.

Even with the pressure, the bleeding didn't completely stop.

Athos, who had dreaded having to check to see if his brother still lived, now realized there was something even more traumatic that awaited his doing. His heart nearly cringed at the thought of it.

"The bleeding has slowed down somewhat, but it has not stopped," he said. "There is only one thing we can do to save his life now."

Porthos knew immediately what Athos was saying. " We can't. It would kill him.""He will die unless we do it, Porthos."

A long silence greeted these words, as the thought of a choice between his bleeding to death or having the wound sealed with a red-hot dagger hung in the air.

Porthos finally took a deep breath, and, without a word, pulled his main gauche, handing it to Athos.

D'Artagnan silently collected some sticks, and now quickly started a small fire. Athos laid the knife's blade in the middle to heat.

Porthos and d'Artagnan didn't speak to him. They knew he was trying to calm himself before doing what had to be done. He usually didn't let others are his emotions, but with his brothers, the pain in his expression was easy to read. They knew this was one of the most painful things he would ever have to do.

"Hold him still, please."

Porthos laid his hands firmly on Aramis' shoulders, while d'Artagnan did the same for his legs.

Then, taking up the blade, he moved it above the wound. Pausing for a moment, he then swiftly brought the flat of the blade firmly down on the wound.

As the blade touched the wound, a piercing tormented scream came from him as his body instinctively tried to protect itself by bucking and writhing. But Porthos and d'Artagnan kept him firmly in place.

Athos kept the blade pressed against the wound until he felt sure it had completely sealed it. Then, lifting it off, he flung it far away from himself.

Aramis now lay deathly quiet on the ground. Athos once more checked his pulse, finding it racing but very soft.

They wound the strips of cloth torn from their shirts around his abdomen,. They then covered him with blankets d'Artagnan had also retrieved from their saddlebags, as his skin was icy to the touch from blood loss.

"We need to keep watch on him. He is not out of the woods yet. He has lost a lot of blood. He also runs the risk of infection setting in. We do not know if this has affected anything else inside of him. We also need to see that he awakens," he said softly, not using the words 'if he awakens'.

They bedded down for the night around their brother, but none of them slept their eyes focused on their brother.

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_**I hope you are all safe and well.**_

_**I didn't have quite enough time to go further this week, writing in-between babysitting a very active and adorable two-year-old and working on an online class I'm taking. . **_

_**Thanks for reading, following, and if you have the time, reviewing. **_


	24. Chapter 24

Aramis continued to be utterly still and unresponsive throughout the next day.

His brothers kept a close eye on the wound, and his body temperature. His wound showed no sign of infection yet, but they all knew that sometimes, infection showed up later. His skin continued to be icy cold, even with all of their blankets tucked around him.

Through everything, little Emile watched, scared for the nice man who lay on the ground. He saw how much these other men loved him, too.

At one point, d'Artagnan, concerned that the boy didn't understand what was going on, knelt on one knee to get down to his level, and spent several minutes explaining in a way he thought the boy would understand. From that point on Emile became a shadow to d'Artagnan, following him everywhere,his little eyes taking in everything very solemnly.

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It was in the middle of the next night that Aramis began to become restless, his head tossing from side to side, and his arms and legs twitching.

Porthos hurriedly gathered his upper body securely against his chest, then gave reassurances to him, hoping to calm him down.

But Aramis couldn't hear him, his movements attempting to continue. He began to murmur, his voice barely audible and filled with the pain his body was going through.

"I..I d..don't want…t..to die," he whispered, anguish filling every syllable he was able to say.

Porthos' heart clenched when he heard this. "Aramis, mon ami, you're not gonna die. Not on my watch," echoed by his brothers, who had silently joined him.

But Aramis was unable to hear them, lost in his world on pain.

Tossing his head weakly, he spoke in the same scratchy whisper, "*Re..requiem aeternam d..dona eis, D..domine," before falling silent and utterly still.

His brothers, stunned and nearly as still as Aramis prayed the prayer of the dying-into Your hands I commend my spirit- shook themselves, as Athos once again reached to check his brother's pulse. Porthos and d'Artagnan, hearts nearly stopping at the shock, waited uneasily until Athos, with his eyes still on Aramis, told them the words they wanted desperately to hear, "He is still alive. He is unconscious once more."

They all knew it was not a good situation if a patient had already resigned himself to dying. If any fight left in him ceased, it could quite possibly happen.

"We need, at every moment, to let him know, let him feel, that we are here. We need to talk to him, encourage him. It is the only way to show him we do not believe he is dying," seeing their slow nods of agreement.

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They each, on their shifts, lifted his upper body against their chests. Speaking softly, they would recount past missions, lighthearted happenings around garrison life. But especially, they would talk about the future. Even though he never showed any signs that he heard them, they would share possible mission assignments with him, asking him how it might be carried out, what precautions to take, if he thought the ideas they had would work.

Athos, watching d'Artagnan, with Emile close beside him as he sat with Aramis, realized that had one idea that he just couldn't share with Aramis around his brothers. It was too dangerous. Unless

"Porthos, could you and d'Artagnan go down to that stand of trees over there," gesturing towards some spreading oaks a short distance away. "Yes, Emile, you may go, too. We need more kindling for the fire. Aramis' skin is still far too cold. I will stay with him."

Reluctantly relinquishing his brother to Athos, d'Artagnan and Porthos, followed by Emile, headed off in the direction had pointed out talking together over more ideas to use with Aramis.

Athos, settling Aramis against him, began gently, rhythmically stroking his hair. Then, he began to speak in the same quiet tones they had all been using with him.

"Aramis, brother, I hope you can hear me. Mon ami, we need you to fight for your life. For us. For the Queen. For your son, Aramis. We all need you. I…we need our brother to come back to us."

Glancing down at where he had directed Porthos and d'Artagnan to go, he focused his gaze back on Aramis' face.

"Aramis, you know I did not approve of what happened at the convent. It could have endangered your life. The Queen's life. But brother, I know in my heart that you do indeed love her, and she you. I can see it every time you are in a room together. I worry for the safety of both of you.

Aramis, she and your son need you to fight to live. Fight for the love I know you have for her. For your son.

"We will be here for you, Aramis. You are not alone. Fight for us, too. We love you, and it will tear at our hearts if we lose you. Fight, Aramis, mon ami," stopping as he heard his brothers' voices approaching.

At the same time, he felt a slight tremor of movement against his chest. Scarcely dating to hope, he took a deep breath to steady himself, then looked down.

He could see a slight movement under Aramis' eyelids, barely enough to notice unless you were a Musketeer who dreaded never seeing them open again.

"Aramis, you can do it. Open your eyes, please," came straight from the heart that some had said didn't exist in the stoic, taciturn Musketeer.

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Porthos and d'Artgnan, with Emile close on their heels, came into the camp, noticing immediately the look on Athos face and his intent attention upon Aramis.

Dropping their kindling like so much rubbish of no importance, they hurried across to where Athos sat with Aramis in his arms.

Porthos began, "What…" only for Athos to hold up a hand, never taking his eyes from Aramis' face.

"There is movement under his eyelids."

D'Artagnan saw that Emile, who was practically in his lap, looked confused at what Athos had just said.

In an undertone, he explained. "When someone is unconscious, one of the first signs that they may be regaining consciousness is their eyes moving under their eyelids, which Athos just saw. Aramis may be about to wake up soon," snd seeing the boy's forlorn little face become a little excited, he thought he had better add, "usually, that is."

The eyes of all of them were glued to Aramis' face.

His eyelids tried twice to lift, only to their intense disappointment, become still again.

But finally, they lifted to half-mast, his eyes showing exhaustion and pain. They weren't focused on anything.

"Aramis," Athos said softly, "Can you hear me, brother?"

Silence. He looked as if he had not heard a sound.

Athos tried again."Aramis?". Just the simple speaking of his name.

This time, with what looked like great effort, his eyes opened fully, shifting slightly to the left towards the voice he had heard. When his eyes beheld Athos, they opened registered what might be surprise, then relief.

"Athos?" His voice echoed the pain of his body.

"And Porthos."

D'Artagnan, enthusiastic with the happiness he felt at seeing his brother awake, chimed in, "And d'Artagnan."What they hadn't expected was that little Emile would also add, And me, Emile!"

"I..I d..didn't think…..I would ever s..see you again," Aramis spoke, voice full of emotion.

In the moment of intense emotions, he made the mistake of trying to reach out to them. His body reacted instantly, lightning bolts of agony ripping through his body badly enough to cause him to scream in pain.

In a heartbeat, Porthos had him cradled against him, soothing him.

"Aramis, it is a little early to move yet. Just lie quietly, brother. We will make sure we bring you back to full health. Let us take care of you the way you have always healed us," Athos told him.

Porthos even though he knew Aramis was, by no means, out of the woods yet, couldn't contain his joy at his best friend finally awake again, said, "You gave us quite a scare. My old heart can't that kind of a jolt, Aramis."

"Go back to sleep, mon ami," Athos told him, "We need you to let us help you, and right now, rest is the best thing in the world."

Aramis looked at his brothers, eyes filled with his love for each of them. He was too tired to stay awake any longer. His eyes were beginning to close, his mind no longer dwelling on the death he did not want.

His brothers smiled, feeling more hopeful than they had since they had found him. They knew, too, though, that with the seriousness of the wound he had sustained, they still needed to give him every ounce of care and love they had for him. But they knew now that he knew he was no longer fighting alone, that they were there for him. They had every hope that it would be enough. But they also knew it would be a long, difficult road yet.

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* Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. The ancient prayer of the dying.

One more chapter of this one-shot next week.

Easter blessings to all of you!


	25. Chapter 25

Although Aramis had awakened once, they waited in vain for him to wake the next day. They didn't leave him alone for a moment, one of them always with him, day and night.

They knew he was still in pain, as from time to time, he would let out low whimpers, trying unconsciously to grab for the source. Each time, one of them would patiently take hold of his arm and lay it back gently at his side, soothing words accompanying the actions.

They changed the dressings, checking to make sure there were no signs of impending infection, patiently rebandaging the wound afterwards.

They had decided to stay right where they were until their brother was able to ride in front of one of them in a saddle, taking their time to help him begin to heal.

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Porthos once again had Aramis' head in his lap as he slept. Athos and d'Artagnan had headed off to try and bag a couple of birds or a rabbit for their evening meal, Emile following in the footsteps of the Gascon.

They had barely left when Porthos felt his brother''s slight movements.

"You awake, sleepyhead?" he teased as Aramis' eyes once more opened. Obviously still only half-awake, his eyes roamed around, trying to understand where he was.

Porthos, seeing this, said, "You ran into a bit of trouble a few days ago, mon ami."

"At these words, Aramis' eyes flew open, confused, and attempting to lift himself up.

Porthos quickly laid him back down again, saying, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You need to keep still before you break that wound open again."

Aramis' eyes still showed his confusion, obviously not quite clear-headed yet.

"You're going to be all right, Aramis. The trouble seems to be gone. But you need to stay resting. Athos and d'Artagnan are hunting us up some supper."

Seeing Aramis' tongue flick out to lick his dry lips, Porthos asked him, "Want some water?"

Seeing the tiny nod of affirmation, he gently laid Aramis' upper body down on the ground and rose to his feet.

Walking over to the doused campfire, he retrieved a tin cup, and opening a canteen, began pouring the water into the cup for Aramis.

He was almost finished when he heard a choked gasp from Aramis. Turning, to his utter shock, he saw a man pulling Aramis' head back painfully by the hair, a long hunting knife laid against his throat. Aramis' eyes were now open wide, filled with panic, and focused on Porthos.

Laying down the cup and canteen slowly and carefully, not wanting to trigger a reaction from the man, Porthos asked, "What do you want?"

The man, instead of answering, nodded his head to his left. Stepping forward was an average-sized man, his clothes proclaiming that he was a nobleman.

Out of the corner of his eye, Porthos caught the movement of a third man. They were surrounded. He could only hope that his brothers would come back and notice something was wrong before these men noticed them.

"Where is the boy?" the nobleman asked.

Porthos said, "There's no boy here. We're Musketeers on the King's business, and…." getting no further as the man nodded to the man threatening Aramis.

The man's knife moved slightly, instantly leaving a thin red line on the marksman's neck. Aramis' breathing began to speed up further at the increasing threat.

Porthos held his hand up in a placating motion, saying, "He was here. He brought us to our friend. But he left after that."

"You must think we are stupid," the man snarled. "We followed the tracks to this camp. I want to know where he is-now! Or your friend dies."

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Athos, d'Artagnan and Emile had good luck, two rabbits now hanging from d'Artagnan's hands.

They had just started back, when Athos stopped in his tracks.

He said, "Something is wrong. We need to get back quickly," the sense that his brothers were danger growing strongly in him.

All three of them quickened their pace, urgency now fueling the movements, d'Artagnan dropping the rabbits as he ran.

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Porthos desperately thought of what he could do to protect Aramis, but came up with nothing. Whatever he might try would end up with his best friend getting his throat cut.

Aramis lay, his head pulled back at an unnatural angle. The blade of the knife still lay, a deadly threat under his chin. Aramis' eyes never left his brother's face.

"Let's talk about this, "Porthos began, but was interrupted abruptly by the nobleman, who had signalled his man again. The knife rapidly flipped in his hand, and now the point was at his brother's jugular.

"We do not need to talk about anything. I want my property. The boy has it. If I do not get it from him, your friend dies. Now, tell me where he is!"

Porthos had never felt so helpless in his life. Aramis' body was now bent up in a bow shape, as the grip on his hair pulled his head even further back, causing his body to arch.

Obviously, the nobleman had a short fuse, and didn't want to wait any further.

He gave an abrupt signal to the knife man, but at that moment, two shots rang out.

The man with the knife released his hold on Aramis' hair, grabbing for his throat as blood blossomed directly in the center of it. A moment later, he collapsed.

The nobleman, hit in the chest, likewise wilted to the ground, a look of shock on his face.

The third man, recognising that since his master was dead, he wouldn't be getting paid for his services, wisely gave up.

Athos and d'Artagnan moved rapidly into the clearing, securing the single man who still lived, and making sure the other two were dead. When they finished, d'Artagnan called to Emile to come out from where they had hidden him.

They then hurried over to where Porthos was lifting a badly shaken Aramis back into his arms, talking all the while to sooth him.

They checked the cut on his throat, very thankful that it was shallow and would heal quickly. Athos took off his scarf and wrapped it gently around the wound. Then, they checked the stomach wound, but there was no blood on the bandage from his rough handling, for which they were really grateful.

So far, Aramis hadn't said a word, the shock having not worn off yet. His hand tried once to shakily lift up to check his throat, but Porthos caught and replaced it at his side, saying softly, "None of that now. We've replaced you as medic til you heal, mon ami."

Athos wondered aloud who the men had been, but suspected they could be the same men who had taken Emile's parents.

Aramis' voice very scratchy and hoarse from disuse, said, "The nobleman w..was the one who sh..shot me," staring across the clearing at the body. "I..I never kn..knew what they w..wanted."

Emile spoke up then. He had been listening intently to their words.

"They wanted what my papa hid for my uncle til he returned," putting his hand in his pocket as he spoke.

He pulled it inside out, but whatever was there was sewn closed.

Athos asked him, "Can you describe it for us, young man?"

Emile's little chest puffed out with pride when he was referred to as 'a young man'. Then he said, "It's a real big stone. It's dark green, and it's shiny."

He obviously didn't know what he was describing, but the Musketeers did. They had heard of the theft of the Comte de la Tonnerre's emerald. The thief had never been apprehended. It appeared now that Emile's uncle was guilty of the theft.

Emile was talking again."I heard my papa and my uncle talking. They thought I was asleep. The rich man had his men force my uncle to take the stone away from his home. They said they would kill my aunt. But then, my uncle ran away from them. My papa sewed the stone in my pocket so no one would arrest my uncle."

Athos was beginning to see what had happened. The Comte probably had money problems, and having such a valuable asset as a priceless emerald in his possession, had made sure it was insured, and then engineered the theft. He could blame it on a poor man, who would look as if it was an opportunity to enrich himself. Meanwhile, the Comte would resolve his money problem at Emile's uncle's expense.

He would have to talk to Treville about how it would be handled. It was a delicate subject when a nobleman of France was accused of such a crime.

Walking over to the lone remaining captive, he knelt down and said, If you want a slim chance of not being hung for your part in this, you had better tell us what happened to the couple you kidnapped."

The man, already terrified of the consequences he would face, eagerly told Athos that they had tried to beat the whereabouts of the emerald out if the boy's father, but no matter what they did to him, he refused to talk.

Finally figuring that they should get hold of the son and maybe then, the man would talk if he saw the young man threatened, they had headed back to the couple's house, only to find tracks leading away to the spot they were now.

"Where are the boy's parents?" he was asked.

The man hesitated, then said, "I'll take you to them. We were holed up in an old abandoned farmhouse about a half hour's ride from here."

D'Artagnan and Emile left a little while later, the captive slung face down over the saddle, with hands and feet tied underneath. Emile was excited that they would bring his parents back with them.

"Porthos and Athos settled an exhausted Aramis down once more, watching fondly as he valiantly tried to stay awake until the others came back, but failing.

They felt blessed to know the brother they loved would live now, despite having his life nearly taken away twice in less than a week.

They would lovingly watch over him every moment until he was once again strong enough to head back to the garrison.

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_**As always, thank so very much for reading, reviewing, following my fanfics. Stay safe, everyone!**_


	26. Chapter 26

_**This will probably be a two-part one-shot, finishing next week. For those of you who wonder what happened to my longer fanfic, Revenge, it will be continued soon. Thanks for reading my fanfics! **_

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He was dreaming.

The Dauphin was laughing as he ran around the green grass, his nursemaids pretending not being able to catch him.

My son, he thought, as his dream continued. Watching, his son giggled, when, all of a sudden, all three young women converged on him at once, tickling him and laughing with him as he rolled on the ground trying to escape their fingers.

How handsome he is. The ladies will swoon over him.

I'm so proud of him, his heart bursting with love for the little son he could only watch from afar.

And then he woke up, wishing he hadn't as he realized that his real-life living nightmare continued.

The darkness was so thick, he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. It seemed like such a long time since he had seen any daylight. There were no windows, and he couldn't tell if there was a door in this black murky environment he was in. Not even a lantern or torch had brightened his day for what was beginning to seem like forever.

The moment he raised his arm, clanking sounded in the utter silence. He couldn't move without the sound coming from the heavy shackles locked around his wrists, or the one encompassing his neck. Both were attached by chains to the base of the wall behind him, which also prevented him from standing up. He could feel that the chafing of the irons on his neck and wrists were beginning to cause bruising on his skin.

He had tried exploring when he was new to the place, but the chains not only didn't let him stand up, but prevented him also from crawling more than a foot or so from the wall the chains were attached to. The only positions available to him were sitting or lying down, the second position only provided he kept his upper body near the wall he was attached to.

An involuntary shiver ran down his spine, something that happened frequently ever since he had been here. The place he was in, besides being dark, was cold and dank, especially since he didn't have his leather doublet or boots to ward off the cold. He wondered idly when they had divested him of them, then thought probably as soon as they had slammed something against the side of his head when kidnapping him.

How long ago had that been, he despairingly wondered. He had no idea. There was no way of telling minutes, hours, days or weeks in this place that he was imprisoned.

A sharp rap sounded behind him, startling him out of his thoughts. Turning slightly, he listened as a small rectangle of metal lifted slightly to his left. No light shone when it was opened, either.

He knew the routine now. A bowl and cup would be pushed through the opening. His food and drink for the day.

The food was a rather pathetic attempt at porridge. It had the consistency of glue, and was almost tasteless. Neither the amount of food nor the cup of water was enough for a child, let alone a grown man. His stomach hadn't stopped growling since the second day he had been there, and he found himself frequently running his tongue over his lips to bring a small bit of moisture to their dryness.

Maybe they were trying to starve him to death. Ruefully, he thought it would be an agonizing way to die.

The only human voices he had heard since he had been imprisoned here had been the first day. He had been told exactly what he was supposed to do, and what would happen if he didn't follow their instructions.

He had been told sharply that he would receive food and water once a day. He needed to have set the empty bowl and cup back where he found it when a second rap was heard. If it wasn't, it would be the end of his food and drink for as long as they saw fit, or permanently.

He was also told that when he heard another rap later, he was to put the bucket he had been provided with for his bodily functions at the same place. If it wasn't put there, he was told he would not have it emptied any more.

He had been faithful to the instructions, knowing that the threats implied would make his captivity infinitely more difficult to bear.

The reason for his kidnapping and continuing imprisonment had been his constant companion since he had been here. Old enemy? Someone with a grudge? Revenge? Jealousy? He just didn't know, or have a way of finding shiver ran through him again, seeming to seep into his bones. This time, it was followed by a coughing spell. The medic, as well as the soldier in him knew that wasn't good.

He knew the constant darkness, the shackles completely hindering his movements, the lack of sufficient food, the cold and dampness combined could take his life if he was down here very much longer. The lack of being able to do almost anything left him with just his mind to keep him occupied. Dozing off frequently at least took him away from here, even if it was temporary.

He wondered if there was any way his brothers could find him, and find him in time.

With that thought, he leaned his head wearily back against the cold stone wall and dozed off once more.

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Athos watched Porthos restlessly prowling in the courtyard. He didn't really blame him.

It had been close to three weeks since Aramis had disappeared. They had turned Paris upside-down searching for him, but to no avail.

Everyone they spoke to said they had seen nothing, heard nothing.

They had endured the insults of the Red Guards, after they had heard about Aramis.

"High and mighty Musketeers. Can't find one of your own when he's missing. Or maybe," one of them sneeringly said, "he's just off with one of his conquests."

Athos and'Artagnan had grabbed hold of Porthos when he started heading for the man, murder in his eyes.

"Fighting will not help us to find Aramis, Porthos," Athos told him firmly. "You know the Red Guards try to goad us into fights to foment trouble. Ignore them."

Porthos had stood still for a moment, then stalked away.

"Porthos, we will find him," Athos said quietly. "Whoever has done this will make a mistake, and we will get him back. And we will make whoever took him very sorry for touching him, I promise you."


	27. Chapter 27

Aramis heard the hatch open, and the bowl pushed through before closing once more.

Wearily, he pulled the bowl towards him and ate the concoction.

The bowl had barely been retrieved back through the hatch when a sharp cramp rolled its way through his stomach.

He barely had time to gasp at the unexpected pain, when another one hit him, and another. As the cramps continued, he tried to roll up into a ball against the waves of agony hitting him.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had listlessly finished midday meal at their table, when the guard at the gate called out, "Athos!"

A flicker of interest ran through all three of them, as the thought that the stranger now standing with the guard might have news of Aramis.

But they had been given a number of false leads from people hoping to maybe receive some reward that, although they couldn't help the interest in what the stranger wanted, they refused to allow their hopes to be dashed once you again.

Walking across the compound to the gate, Athos addressed the slightly youngish-looking man, "You wished to see us?"

The man, looking over at the guard, said, "I asked to see whoever was looking for a missing Musketeer," eyeing them nervously.

The Musketeers looked at each other, despite themselves becoming once more hopeful.

Athos asked the man, "What is your name, and how would you come by knowledge of a missing Musketeer? the questions sharp and to the point.

"My name is Vincent, and I..." here he paused, swallowing in a gulp from nervousness. "I am one of the men who kidnapped him several weeks…"

He got no further as Porthos growled, "Why you…" advancing on the man as he spoke.

"Porthos!" Athos voice rang out sharply, stopping the big man in his tracks. "This man did come of his own free will. He is the only lead we have had to Aramis. If you harm him, we have no way to possibly find our brother, and find him alive," laying his hand gently but firmly on the irate big man's shoulder as he spoke.

Porthos halted reluctantly, looking into Athos' eyes fullof concern, then over at Vincent. Then, he slowly nodded to Athos.

"Come over to the table," Athos said to Vincent, "and explain yourself."

Vincent went with them, hoping they wouldn't all three kill him after he finished telling them what had happened.

Sitting down, he faced three deadly serious faces as he began to speak.

"A wealthy man recruited four of us to do a job for him, promising a very large amount of coin when we were finished.

We were to kidnap and imprison a specific Musketeer, one who he explained to us had caused his son's slow, agonizing death. He described in detail how he was to be imprisoned. We carried out his orders to the letter, although I grew increasingly uneasy over the weeks at what we were doing. I was alone in that, though, as my companions, men I had never known before we were brought together for this job, seemed perfectly comfortable with what they were doing.

But…," here he hesitated, looking afraid to continue.

"Go on," Athos told him.

"What we were asked to do changed yesterday. The man came, bringing with him a small pouch of powder. He told us to put it into the Musketeer's food. It made him…" once again halting, his nervousness causing him to begin sweating.

"Please continue," Athos said, in a low voice.

""It made him so sick. It sounded like cramps. I…"

That was all the further he got before Porthos' hands encircled his throat, squeezing in a furious rage.

It took the combined strength of Athos and d'Artagnan to pull him away, and even then he struggled to break free.

"Porthos, we are all as angry as you. But not with this man, who has told us the situation made him very uneasy. Please. Let us listen to the rest of what he came to tell us," Athos said, cautiously easing his grip as Porthos relaxed a fraction.

"Go on,"Athos ordered.

"We were never told that we were to physically harm him. I, for one, would never have consented to work for him if we had been.

Today, he came back. With two pouches for tomorrow's food. I think that would probably kill him.

It was then that I decided to get out. I told the other men I needed to go out around the back, and they all assumed I had bodily reasons. I went out the door, and headed straight here, hoping I would be in time."

They were all silent after the man stopped talking.

Then Athos asked him, "Would you willingly lead us to where Aramis is being held? I cannot guarantee that you will not be punished by the law, but saving the life of our friend would cause me to speak well of you in a court of law."

Vincent slowly nodded. "I do not want the Musketeer's-Aramis, you said his name is?-death on my conscience. He has never done anything to me or mine. Yes, gladly, I will lead you to him-now, if you wish."

Athos looked over at his brothers. "Arm yourselves and meet Vincent and I at the gates in ten minutes. We are bringing Aramis home."

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Aramis couldn't move. As soon as did, the pain tripled. With his body curled up, at least it was less, but wouldn't go away. A powerful headache had now begun to pound in his head, as well.

They had to have put something in his food, probably some form of poison. Even if he could have figured out what it was, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it here.

They must have decided to torment him, after leaving him utterly to himself for who knows how long. If they were hired by someone, maybe he was getting tired of whatever game he was playing. The next meal may have something different, or a higher dose of what he had been given, unknowingly figuring out exactly what they planned to do next.

He couldn't refuse the food brought, or the threat of no food whatever could be leveled against him. But he also couldn't chance ingesting anything else poisonous. He had no other options, though.

And then, when his body reacted to his legs moving slightly after falling asleep and going numb, the cramps ripped through him again.

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Athos and the others travelled across Paris, following Vincent's lead. At least, they thought, their brother was still within Paris, but his captors had done an excellent job of hiding him and themselves away.

Finally stopping,Vincent pointed towards a large old wooden building straight ahead of them. No light came from the two ground windows in the front to indicate there might be any occupants. The building had the look of being unoccupied.

The others began to head closer, but stopped at Athos' voice. "As much as I want to just break down the door and head inside, we need to take care of Aramis' kidnappers first, or they may kill him before we can get to him if they hear anyone entering.

Vincent, will you show us where they might be?" turning to the man who had been very quiet while leading them there.

Vincent, even though nervous that his former companions might kill him if they discovered be had betrayed them and led the musketeers to their door, slowly nodded, and began leading them around to the back of the building.

Stopping as he reached the back corner of the building and holding up a hand, he said, "They are in a room at the back of the building. We need to move quietly and carefully, as they are heavily armed."

Athos surprised him by saying, "If you wish, you may stay out of sight here."

Vincent ruefully shook his head, saying, "I need to do my part. I regret highly what it turned out I was involved with."

Athos nodded his head once, and then they headed for the back door, expecting a brutal fight.

The men inside were not expecting trouble, lounging around a table playing cards and drinking. They didn't have a chance to put up much of a fight, as Athos shot the first man who attempted to draw his pistol when the door opened. Porthos grabbed a second one and flung him him against the wall, his head hitting it first and knocking him out. The third one had pulled a dagger on d'Artagnan, but was so focused on the Gascon, he never heard Athos come up behind him and knock him out with the butt of his pistol.

D'Artagnan and Porthos dragged them to a long-unused pantry and locked them inside. Meanwhile, Athos grabbed a ring full of keys hanging on a hook beside the door where they had entered.

Hurrying now, they headed back out the door and around once again to the front entrance.

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The door was bolted shut, which presented no problem for Porthos. He just rammed his shoulder against it, using his considerable strength, and the door not only opened, it fell heavily to the floor. With the noise it made, now they were even more glad that they had taken care of the men in back.

The noise the wood door made slamming to the ground would have alerted them and given them the time the would need to possibly kill Aramis before his brothers could even reach them.

Seeing the darkness inside, they grabbed several torches laying in a stack on the floor near the door, and lighting them, held them aloft to light their way.

There was a long corridor straight ahead, and no other halls or stairways in sight so they proceeded along it. There were no other doors along the hall other than one straight ahead a few yards down.

Reaching the door, Porthos was going to use his shoulder again, but Athos stopped him.

"We do not want to startle Aramis, if this is indeed where he is being held. Use your lock picks, even if it takes a minute or two longer."

Nodding in understanding, Porthos got to work. It was a matter of moments before he got it unlocked.

Athos proceeded to open the door. They were met by a pitch black room, and they could feel the cold even though they had yet to enter.

Athos handed his torch to Vincent and proceeded into the inky blackness. D'Artagnan and Vincent kept the torches pointed ahead of him so he could see where to walk.

When he reached the center of the large room, he spotted a form against the far wall.

Moving swiftly now, they reached the body, which was utterly still and bent forward from the waist.

They already knew it was Aramis by the mop of curls obscuring his face. They all swore when they saw the heavy chains holding his wrists in front of him

Incredibly gentle, Athos knelt closely beside his long-lost brother, and tenderly moved his upper body back against the wall. When he did do, all of them's faces became irate at seeing another heavy shackle around his neck, with both chains attached to the wall at ground level in such a way that it would be impossible for him to stand at all.

Porthos, lock picks still in hand, hurriedly worked the locks on the shackles, getting them off of Aramis as quickly and gently as possible.

Once they had freed him, they laid him back against the wall. He obviously still was having cramps from the poison, as evidenced by the grimaces his face was making, and the small whimpers of pain that tore at hearts.

His skin was very cold, the conditions he had been locked in the cause. They were lucky to have found him before he had developed pneumonia.

They decided they still needed to get him out of there as quickly as possible before checking him for any other injuries or symptoms, as they had no idea if the author of this unspeakable cruelty would show up again, or if he would be accompanied by more men if he did.

Porthos gathered his brother's body up as gently as he could, cradling him high against his chest. Athos took his own cloak off to wrap snugly around his brother's icy cold body against the night air.

They left the same way they had come in, and began the long trek back to the garrison. They were at last bringing Aramis home.

Athos leaned down close to Aramis' ear as they walked, saying, "You are safe now, mon ami. We will guard you with our lives, while you recover."

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_**There will be one more chapter after all next week. Have a safe week, everyone. Thanks for reading!**_


	28. Chapter 28

They had gone only a block or so when Porthos came to a halt. Athos and d'Artagnan looked over at him, worry in their expressions. They could hear the the tiny whimpers Aramis had been making since they had found him.

Porthos indicated Aramis lying so still in his arms, saying quietly, "I can feel his body reacting to the cramps running through him. Short little jolts from the pain. And he is shivering so hard. No one.." stopping as d'Artagnan was already removing his cloak.

They wrapped it over the one Athos had put around him. All of them heard when a loud rumbling came from him, his lack of food making his stomach growl. Had he been having those all through his captivity?

They began heading once more for the garrison, Porthos murmuring to Aramis to soothe him.

His head went up to watch where he was going as they rounded a corner, he felt movement on his shirt. Looking down, he discovered that Aramis' hand, still with eyes closed, had somehow grabbed the front of his brother's shirt.

Porthos looked up to tell his brothers, only to find that both of them's eyes were already seeing the same thing, and both had soft smiles on their faces now.

Even unawares, Aramis seemed to seek the reassurance of touch.

When they were within sight of the gates, they heard the gate guard yell, "Captain!"

Coming through the gates with their precious burden, they saw Treville moving rapidly down the wooden flight of stairs from his office, indicating he had been told upon his return from the palace about where three of his Musketeers had gone and why, and had waited up for them.

Reaching his men, his eyes softened when he saw Aramis bundled in the cloaks, and then smiled at the hand still fisted in Porthos' shirt.

His eyes grew stern again as he asked Athos who had been responsible for kidnapping Aramis, where he had been found, and what condition his Musketeer was in.

Athos told him, "Captain, I will give you a full report later, but we need to get Aramis into the infirmary, and send for Lemay. Besides his other treatment, he has been poisoned," seeing Treville stiffen, and his eyes move back to the unconscious Aramis.

"By all means," Treville said. "I will have Lemay sent for. Make him as comfortable as you can in the infirmary." Starting to turn, he looked back saying, "Job well done," before striding away calling a cadet to retrieve Lamay.

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They laid Aramis' down gently on a bed towards the back of the infirmary, so he wouldn't be disturbed if men came in or out. Porthos had to disengage his brother's hand from his shirt in order to do so, and a quiet murmur of protest came from Aramis as he did so, causing the big man to smile.

For all Aramis' fierceness as a fighter, and his attraction to every woman he flirted with, when he was sick or injured, he was sometimes very childlike in his mannerisms.

The brothers noticed from his body movements that the fierce cramps seemed finally to be dying down at long last. He was still scrunching up his face, though, which told them that something else they had yet to detect was still causing him pain. They hoped Lemay arrived quickly.

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The physician arrived two hours later, apologizing that an elderly marquis' painful bout of gout had kept him away from the palace, or the cadet could have given him the message earlier.

Sitting down next to Aramis on the edge of his bed, Lemay asked what had happened, and what Aramis' injuries were.

Athos told him what had happened to their brother, Lemay shaking his head sadly.

"He was poisoned hours before we finally found him," causing Lemay to shake his head at the evil that sometimes found its way into some men's hearts. "It would appear that whoever this man is, he had finally tired if his 'games', and wanted to poison him to death in two stages," relating that the first dose gave Aramis horrendous stomach cramps, which seem to have finally died away and something else that they could tell from Aramis' expressions was still paining him.

Athos continued. "One of the kidnappers became sickened by what was happening, and came to us when Aramis was poisoned telling us that the mman had said he would bring two doses on the morrow. If the single dose caused the incredible pain he was in when we found him, I would hate to see what two would do. Without doubt I believe it would have killed him."

Lemay fell silent after this, thinking.

He finally spoke, saying, "My knowledge of poisons is not fully developed. There are several things that could have been what was used. I believe,from observing him now, that the pain he is still suffering from is a horrendous headache. I have a tincture I propose to try that may reverse the process. It will be no good trying to get him to eat until the poison's effects have been neutralized, as the cramps may very well return."

Reaching down into his bag, he pulled a small brown vial out, asking for a cup of water. D'Artagnan immediately went and retrieved it for him.

Lemay them poured the contents of the vial into the water, then handed it to Athos.

Athos nodded to Porthos, who lifted the still unconscious Aramis. Athos laid the the cup against Aramis' bottom lip. After a moment, the marksman's desperately-thirsty body reacted, swallowing when the cup was tilted, the liquid swallowed as it ran in.

Laying him back down gently Porthos anxiously asked, "How long will it be before we know if it worked?"

"Within the next two to three hours," Lemay responded.

He told them to let him know immediately if any change, good or bad, before leaving to return to the palace.

Aramis' brothers took up positions around the bed, all of them knowing they couldn't sleep, even had they tried. They needed to be there when he woke up.

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It was close to three hours later that they saw any change in their brother. But finally, he began to become restless, his hands twitching slightly. A little later, what they wanted so badly began to happen, the muscles in his eyes causing them to move under the lids.

Leaning forward, all of them were intensely focused now. A moment or so later, his eyes blinked a couple of times before finally slowly opening.

Light in the room had been kept intentionally dim out of deference to the environment he had been forced to endure, as they knew his eyes were going to have to get used to normal light again.

Once his lids opened, he stared straight up for a moment, blinking rapidly, before slowly starting to move to the right and then left.

Seeing that he was confused, Athos leaned forward, saying softly, "Aramis?"

His brother's head turned toward the voice, his eyes widening, fully awake now.

"Ath…,"He struggled to speak, his mouth bone dry from a lack of sufficient fluids.

Without a word, Porthos lifted him, while Athos brought a cup of water to his lips. Aramis gulped the water, trying to drink as much as possible, and making a small sound of protest when it was taken away.

"It would make you sick if you drank too much at once, mon ami," Athos quietly said. Then, he continued. "Yes, Aramis, it is Athos. Porthos and d'Artagnan are here, too," nodding towards his brothers.

"How…"

"Do not be concerned with how you are here right now, Arsmis. We will explain later. You have been very sick. Dr. Lemay gave you a tincture for it, and it is working. You need to rest and let it complete it's work, all right?"

"You came." Those simple words spoke volumes. The relief in his eyes was profound, and it heightened emotions already producing tears in the eyes of them all.

"Of course," Athos responded.

"How did you…"

"We need to introduce you to someone, Aramis," looking over in the corner at Vincent, who was shaking his head no.

Athos persisted, though. "Vincent, please," the softly-spoken request causing Vincent to slowly stand up and hesitantly walk over to the bed.

Giving him a rare smile, Athos continued. "Aramis, if not for this young man, you would not be here now."

Vincent began shaking his head before Athos had finished half his sentence. "I am as guilty..." stopping when Athos held up a hand in a silent command to let him continue.

"It is true that Vincent was one of the men who kidnapped you and held you prisoner, Aramis," causing the marksman's eyes to return to Vincent's face, confusion reflected there now.

"But he began to regret deeply what he had agreed to do. It culminated with his slipping away after you were given poison that made you deathly sick. He was wracked with guilt, and came directly to the garrison to tell us. He even insisted on going in to rescue you after I had told him he could stay outside. He originally made a big mistake, but he ended up saving your life, Aramis. He has stayed here silently since we brought you back to the garrison, waiting for you to wake up."

Aramis continued to keep his gaze upon Vincent's face, not saying anything. Then, he reached out a slightly quivering hand. Vincent, complete surprise and a little shock registering on his face, reached quickly out to grasp it.

Aramis simply said, "Thank you for saving my life, Vincent."

Now, it was Vincent who teared up, having not expected any kindness from the man he had originally treated so badly.

Aramis' eyes started to close despite himself, exhaustion plainly written on his face.

Porthos, seeing this, told him, "Rest, Aramis. When you wake again, we will get you something from Serge to eat. He will probably spoil you rotten like be always does."

Aramis' eyes closed, a hint of a smile lingering.

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About a half hour after he had fallen asleep, Treville came into the infirmary, a question in his eyes.

"Athos told him "He is going to make it, Captain. He awoke and was lucid, and was able to drink some water."

Treville's expression instantly relaxed at these words, giving Aramis a find glance before looking at his other three Musketeers.

"We have been interrogating the other three men since they were taken to the Chatelet. One of them finally broke."

"Did he tell you who committed this horrendous act?" Porthos wanted to know, anger on his face and in his voice. Treville saw the same look on the others' faces too.

"The man who instigated this heinous act is the Vicomte de Chambrun. He thought Aramis had Dishonored his son by refusing to fight a fuel with him. His son fancied himself enamored of a young woman he had his eye on wanting her to be his mistress. She refused, and when he saw her speaking to Aramis a few days later, took it into his head that she preferred a commoner over him, who was an aristocrat. The nobility generally does not challenge commoners to a duel, but the young man was so puffed up in his pride being insulted that he chose to anyway. When Aramis rightly refused him, the furious young man rushed at Aramis, sword unsheathed. Aramis bad no choice but to defend himself, and being far more skilled, would not avoid running him through.

Bis angry and grievng father concocted this mad scheme upon Aramis as revenge for his son's death."

There was complete silence after Treville finished speaking.

Then, a barely audible voice came from behind them, "Pride and passion don't always mix well."

They all turned, not expecting Aramis to have awakened again so soon. His eyes gave away the exhaustion and pain that had not completely left him yet, as he spoke.

His face was sad as he continued, "I never had...relations with her. She was a friend. She was in love with someone else. This young hothead could not accept that."

A long silence followed after he finished speaking.

Then, Porthos said, "You hungry, Mis? Serge told me he has chicken and potato pie cooking. And a cherry tart for dessert."

At Aramis' eager nod, Porthos and d'Artagnan headed for the door.

They could hear Porthos' voice as he closed the door behind him, "Maybe Serge will give us some, too," anticipation in his voice.

Grins were on all of their faces as Aramis said, "Probably not."


	29. Chapter 29

His head was pounding when he finally awoke. I don't remember drinking, he thought fuzzily.

He finally opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear his eyesight.

When it finally did, he frowned at the unfamiliar surroundings. Dingy brown walls, dimly lit with one tiny window far above him near the ceiling. There was a dirt floor, which he was currently sitting on.

But it wasn't until he lifted his hand to examine the throbbing lump on the back of his head that alarm bells began ringing.

His arm wouldn't lift more than a few inches, and he realized his wrists had been shackled together, and then by another length of chain to the wall behind him.

He was suddenly wide awake. Looking around the room more thoroughly now, he discovered he was totally alone.

Aramis. Where was he?

His memory returned to him full force. He and Aramis had finished a day out and back errand for the King, and were less than an hour's ride back to Paris.

They had encountered very few travellers the whole way, and just enjoyed each other's company in light conversation.

And then, his memory failed him. He remembered nothing more, try as he might. Puzzled, he wondered if the blow to his head that he had received might have a little something to do with it.

Anxiety about Aramis returned. He tried calling out in a loud voice, but only the walls seemed to hear him.

Where was he? Had they been attacked? He chided himself at that thought. Of course they had to have been attacked. They had been fully armed and were highly skilled, so they wouldn't have been taken without a lot of effort and superior numbers.

Had his brother been killed? His heart nearly stopped considering that possibility. No, he refused to entertain that avenue unless presented with evidence.

Was he here somewhere? If he was, was he injured? Was he undergoing torment?

If he wasn't here, where was he?

So many questions, but Athos had no answers for any of them, and no way, at the present time and circumstances, to obtain any answers.

The only thing he could do is go back to trying to yank the chain he was attached to out of the bolt on the wall. He knew his wrists were going to suffer from it, but right now, he didn't care.

His wrists were not nearly as important as his brother's life.

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When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that he was in a small room with no windows. The floor, which he was currently lying on, was dirt.

He was laying on his side, his wrists bound behind him, his ankles also bound.

He remembered he and Athos being ambushed while returning to Paris. They had fought fiercely, but there were just too many of them.

He had been caught unawares as he had engaged a fierce-faced young man clumsily wielding an ancient sword. Someone had slammed a blunt object into the back of his head, knocking him instantly unconscious.

Athos! What had happened to him?

His quick perusal of the room had revealed that he was alone. Where had they taken his brother? Or had they killed….no, he refused to believe they could have slain Athos. He would know, would feel the emptiness inside his heart of the loss.

A long struggle against the ropes let him him know that whoever had bound him was an expert at it. There was no give whatever, he thought dejectedly.

What did they want? They hadn't killed him, so it was probably either information or ransom. But the King didn't ransom Musketeers, he had learned long ago. That didn't mean his kidnappers knew, though.

He had no idea how long he had lain there. He and concussions had a long history. He didn't tolerate them well at all. He would probably have his current massive headache for quite some time.

After what seemed like forever of lying unmoving, he gave into the weariness of his body's traumatic experience and yielded to the welcoming darkness.

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Aramis was rudely awakened sometime later by a bucket of freezing cold water being thrown at his head. Spluttering, he shook his head to dispel the water, his hair sodden as well as his shirt.

He was suddenly grabbed by arms on each side, and dragged abruptly upright, the movement making him dizzy as it combined with the remnants of his concussion.

He saw a middle-aged bull of a man stalking towards him from the now-open door. He stopped inches from Aramis' face, and stood for a few moments just glaring at him.

Aramis didn't recognize the man, wondering why he seemed so angry.

He tried speaking. "I don't know what you want, but…." getting no further before a fist slammed into his stomach, knocking all the air out of him as he gasped in pain.

"You don't speak here unless you are given permission, which you won't be," snarled the man in front of him. "You are a means to an end, and nothing more. When we have achieved what we are here for, you will be disposed of like the dog you are," his words confusing Aramis, a chill involuntarily running down his spine.

"This will not be pleasant for you, but we have no interest in what you feel or think anyway. You will be the means to a vengeance long-awaited and overdue."

With that, he said, "Let us begin."

The man swung his fist against Aramis' face, the marksman's head flung sideways by the force of the blow.

Before he could even take a breath, the next blow came. They kept coming, until finally things mercifully went dark for him, as he hung limply from the grips of his captors.

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Athos had finally worn himself out yanking his shackled hands back in his attempts to free himself, after working at it into the night and halfway through another day of captivity.

Laying back against the wall, he closed his eyes, wondering if he was ever going to lay eyes on whoever had imprisoned him.

Us, he amended, still hopeful that Aramis yet lived and was somewhere close by in this building. The alternative was still not one he would allow himself to contemplate.

He had yet to receive anything to eat, and his stomach was beginning to let him know it was angry at the lack.

How long are they going to stay hidden, he wondered.

As if on cue, he heard the bolt on his door drawn back, and a big, burly man strutted in, followed by two other men.

Coming across the room, he halted a couple of feet away from Athos. The man stood looking down at the Musketeer, a smile of intense satisfaction spreading across his face.

"Monsieur le Comte de la Fere, it is high time you have become my guest."

Athos' eyes sharpened at the sound of his former name and title.

"I gave my title up years ago. Who are you?" not recognizing the man yet, and the tone of demand in Athos' voice rankled the man, his visible displeasure evident.

"You won't behave so high-and-mighty for long, de la Fere. Your reckoning is fast approaching," the man said with a sneer.

"What do you want?" Athos asked him.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" he was asked in return.

Athos slowly shook his head, looking the man up and down.

"Then, maybe you will recognize the name Claude Beaufort," the man hissed angrily.

Athos' face then stifferened, registering his shock, and he looked the man over again.

"You are here for your reckoning, Monsieur le Comte. Someone who means a great deal to you for someone taken from me," he said, gesturing aggressively towards the door.

The door was slammed open, and two men came through it, a badly bloodied and unconscious Aramis hanging limply from their hands, his feet dragging along the floor as he was brought in.

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_**For all of you who are reading my Revenge fanfic, I may have another chapter during this next week. If not, then on the weekend. I will not leave it hanging again like before, for which I apologize again to you all. Thank you all so very much for reading, following, reviewing my fanfics. **_


	30. Chapter 30

"Aramis!" Athos cried out, anguish in his voice.

His attention then switching angrily to his captor, he demanded, "Why are you doing this?"

The man in front of him's face contorted. "You, of all people, know exactly why, Monsieur le Comte. An eye for an eye. You took someone I loved more than my own life from me. I am going to do the same to you. An eye for an eye, shall we say?"

"I did not murder anyone. Your brother nearly raped an innocent young woman, Beaufort."

"He was having a little fun with the tavern's barmaid. You ran him through," countered Beaufort, his anger intensifying.

"He objected to my coming to the young woman's rescue as he tried to force his unwanted attentions on her. He drew his sword, and I had no choice other than to do the same or be run through."

"Be careful of you words, de la Fere," Beaufort growled. "They will now have consequences you will not like."

Beaufort snarled, grabbing at Aramis' hair and yanking his head back, causing the now semi-conscious marksman to groan in pain. The man shook Aramis' head back and forth, causing his face to crunch up in agony.

Lifting his foot, Beaufort used it to propel Aramis forward, falling across Athos' legs.

"We will be back tomorrow to begin retribution, Monsieur le Comte,"the man sneered, as he and his men exited the room, bolting the door behind them.

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Athos was already reaching for Aramis before the door had closed.

His brother was riddled with bruises over most of his face and upper body. One eye was black and blue.

Athos, untying his brother's hands, pulled him gently up against his chest, calling his name. After a few tries, weary eyes opened to behold his brother, not his tormentors, looking at him.

"Ath...," he tried to say, only to start coughing.

"Do not try to speak right now, mon ami. Just rest. I am so sorry this is happening to you because of me."

Aramis didn't understand what he meant, managing to get a "No" out before coughing this time.

"It is, Aramis. He bears a grudge against me for something from my past, and he intends to punish me for it. He..." hesitating, he went on. "He intends to hurt you for my part in the death of his brother, because he knows that you are my brother in every way but blood. I wish there were a way to get out of here, but I have tried repeatedly, and this chain will not give an inch."

Aramis' face suddenly scrunched up in pain.

Holding him closer, Athos whispered, "Just rest, Aramis. Somehow, we will get out of here."

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Porthos and d'Artagnan, having received permission to ride out in search of their brothers when they were over two days late returning to the garrison, had left early in the morning.

They headed down the same road they knew Aramis and Athos would have taken on their return trip.

Two-thirds of the way along that road is where they found a heavily-trampled clearing, showing them that there had probably been an ambush. Finding Aramis' hat and Athos' scarf told them they had been there, and were probably the object of the ambush.

Searching along the edges of the clearing, they looked for tracks showing which direction horses had headed afterwards.

They found what they were looking for fairly quickly, but after following the trail for about a mile, it disappeared. Evidently, he thought of covering up their tracks had not occurred in their minds at first, but a little later on.

The Musketeers decided their only choice at the moment was to continue along the direction the trail had been going, hoping the kidnappers hadn't veered off later on in another direction.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sometime in the middle of the the night, Athos felt movement from his brother. They had no light, so he couldn't see if Aramis' eyes might have opened.

"Aramis?" he gently spoke.

Aramis' voice, faint and full of pain, responded. "Wh...where are w..we?"

Athos figured his brother must not have heard or maybe not remembered anything he had told him previously which was understandable.

"We were taken, Aramis. These men...have a grudge against me."

"Why?"

"It is something that happened in my past, before I was a Musketeer. Our captor...believes I killed his brother without cause. He wants to..."

He couldn't tell him. How could he tell the brother he loved what Beaufort wanted to do? But..how could he not?

Silence descended in the pitch black room.

"Athos?" Aramis prompted.

Athos heaved a great sigh. "He told me that since I killed the brother he loved..." he couldn't go on.

But Aramis finished for him, "He would kill the brother you love."

"Aramis, I...I rarely feel helpless. But to feel that way when it could mean your life..."

"Athos, it isn't your fault. He is a madman. I don't blame you."

Athos hugged Aramis closer, but carefully because of his injuries. There wasn't anything more he could do.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Some time later, the bolt was drawn, and in came their captors. Beaufort was all smiles.

"Today is the beginning of my long-awaited revenge," nodding to his men.

They approached and grabbed Aramis by the arms, dragging him away from Athos and towards the far wall.

"Leave him alone!" Athos cried out. "Take me!"

"But my dear Comte," Beaufort sneered, "this is so very much more fitting. You will see what will begin happening in a few moments for the rest of your miserable life. It will be like a living death for you-like losing my brother was for me."

His men slammed Aramis up against the wall. Grabbing his wrists, they spread-eagled them as far up and apart as possible, attaching them with shackles to rings set in the wall. His feet were bound together and to the base of the wall.

Athos, sick at heart, watched helplessly. He could see the fear in his brother's eyes. Fear I am responsible for, he told himself.

"Now, de la Fere, meet Andre. He has the best aim with a knife that I have ever encountered. I have chosen him to carry out my idea."

The man indicated gave a little mock bow, enjoying the attention. Then, he drew a pearl-handled knife from his waist. The knife had obviously been given to him by Beaufort, as it was costly enough that someone like him could never afford it.

"Where would you like the first one to go, Monsieur le Comte?" asked Beaufort, enjoying himself immensely.

Athos was silent, his eyes glaring at the man.

No choice?" Beaufort continued, taunting him. "Turning to his man, he said, "You choose."

Hardly had he finished speaking, when the knife flew from the man's hand, hitting Aramis in his lower right side. The marksman screamed in pain.

Athos screamed silently inside, his pain the pain of his brother.


	31. Chapter 31

Athos shouted and screamed at them until he was too hoarse to make himself heard. He thought he would hear his brother's agonized cries for the rest of his life, tearing his heart apart.

He hadn't at first noticed that the man wielding the knife had a table on the far side of him, more knives laying gleaming in the torch light upon it.

He mixed his attacks up, sometimes throwing a knife that pierced flesh, sometimes deliberately missing Aramis altogether, although his victim couldn't tell which he was going to do each time beforehand. Sometimes, he would saunter slowly over to the marksman and make a cut or slash instead of attacking from a distance.

Athos could see that Aramis was still conscious, though barely so now. He had to be in so much pain, the swordsman agonizedly thought. And it is all my fault.

Beaufort finally called a halt to things after what seemed like an endless period of time. Signalling his henchmen, they filed out, but not without a satisfied smirk at at Arhos, and a comment.

"We will be back in the morning. Maybe your brother will die tomorrow, de la Fere. Enjoy his company tonight," laughing as he closed and bolted the door behind him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After they had left, it was pitch black again. Athos couldn't see Aramis at all.

He tried calling him softly.

"Aramis? Mon ami?"

But there wasn't a reply. No sound at all.

That caused panic in the ordinarily stoic swordsman.

"Aramis?" he called louder.

At first, there was nothing. Athos' heart sank in despair. Was he dead already? Did they kill him?

But barely had those thoughts run through his mind, than he heard a voice, whisper-soft, reply, "A...Athos?"

Athos' head shot up at the sound of that very much loved voice.

"I am here, Aramis. I am so sor..."

"D don't apol..ogize. N..Not your f..fault."

Athos heard coughing, and then Aramis trying to catch his breath again.

"S..sorry. C..can't to breathe r..right," Aramis said in a raspy voice.

Athos didn't want to ask him, but he knew he needed to know.

"Aramis, you are our medic. I...I have to know, brother. Did they...did they hit anything serious? Ribs, lung," although making himself sick thinking of internal injuries.

Silence.

Finally, Aramis said, "I'm having t..trouble t..aking any deep br..breaths. Hurts. H..hurts s..so bad."

Athos' panic level shot up higher. Aramis almost never admitted to pain, sometimes even highly upsetting his brothers by hiding his injuries. This admission from him worried him sick.

"Aramis," forcing his voice to remain calm and soothing, " rest as much as you can, brother. Maybe..." he wondered if he should say it, but hoped it might give Aramis enough strength to hang on, "maybe Porthos and d'Artagnan are headed our way. They will take Beaufort and his men apart."

Aramis didn't reply, and Athos, after a couple more tries, realized that he must have finally fallen unconscious at last. At least, he will not be aware of the pain for as long as he is out, he thought. A small mercy.

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Porthos and d'Artagnan had continued to head in the same direction the discontinued trail had indicated. They didn't really think the men they were trailing would stay headed that direction, but they had no other leads to follow.

But, to their great surprise, as the sun went down, it finally led to a clearing amongst the woodlands, at the center of which stood an abandoned fortified farmhouse, the kind of place men like these would love-isolated and secluded.

Remaining hidden behind the trees, they slowly, methodically began to check the building out. The only windows the building seemed to have were all in front, which could make it easier to approach it from.

But it was when they reached the back of the house that they knew they had found the right place. There, amongst a group of horses in a fenced area were the horses of both Athos and Aramis!

Excited now that they had located where their brothers had been taken, they nevertheless proceeded with extreme caution, reasoning that these men had to be dangerous to have captured two heavily armed veteran Musketeers.

They thought whoever was this band's leader had to be either stupid or supremely confident that this out-of-the-way building was so far off the beaten path that no one would find them. They would soon find out that either of those suppositions were dead wrong.

When they reached the back door, d'Artagnan quietly lifted the latch, and both of them's eyebrows instantly rose, that even doors were unlatched. They wondered if this rescue was too easy.

Pulling the door silently open, they looked around before proceeding. Not a soul was in sight, no weapons, nothing. This was too good to be true!

Finding a stairway leading down, they looked at each other. Keeping captives in an underground room made sense to them, so, hands gripping both pistols and swords, they moved slowly down the flight of steps, listening intently for any sound that could indicate that they might have been discovered.

But there was only dead silence.

Reaching ground level, they noticed right away that there was only one room with a bolt across it, and eyed each other again. Their heart rates sped up thinking they may have found their missing brothers.

They found torches on the wall outside the locked room, and quickly commandeered and lit one for each of silently as possible, d'Artagnan opened the door.

The sight that immediately met them was an astounded Athos against the far wall. "How did you find us?" he asked.

Closing the door to shield any sound they might make, they raced across the room to the swordsman, who however, waved them off, pointing to the opposite wall vehemently.

"Help Aramis first, please?" an almost panicked voice coming from him that they had never heard before.

Turning, complete shock registered as they beheld Aramis, spreadeagled to the wall, his body marked by countless cuts and slashes, several knives having been left in his body. He was covered in blood, and a pool of it had formed on the floor beneath him. His head hung down, eyes closed, face incredibly pale.

"Aramis!" Porthos' voice called out, shock and pain at what had happened to his best friend very evident. D'Artagnan didn't say anything, but the look on his face was very telling.

D'Artagnan had noticed a ring of keys on the wall near the door as they went in, and had grabbed them. He was very glad he did now, as he unlocked the shackles.

Porthos gently took Aramis in his arms, and they headed back to Athos, where they spread their cloaks and laid him down upon them.

Athos, whose gaze had never left Aramis, leaned over him as soon as he was released, tears overflowing as he softly spoke, saying, "I am so sorry, Aramis," several times, causing his rescuing brothers to wonder what had happened before they had arrived.

They hurriedly tore strips from their shirts, and bound the worst of his injuries, deciding to risk not doing more yet, as they needed to leave before they were discovered.

Porthos again lifted Aramis against his chest, his hear torn anew at hearing the faint whimper escaping his unconscious brother's lips from the movement.

Turning to the door, they froze as a mocking voice in the doorway said, "You weren't thinking of leaving my hospitality so soon, were you?"


	32. Chapter 32

Everyone froze at the sight of Beaufort standing in the open doorway, a pistol leveled at Aramis.

"So your other friends finally found you, Monsieur le Comte. They can take you back to Paris after I finish the memories you will bring back with you me in your mind . I will be merciful and just shoot him in the head to put him out of his misery, the misery you caused, de la Fere," raising his pistol to take aim.

D'Artagnan realized he was out of the man's eyesight where he was. Hastily looking for any way to remove the danger to his brothers, he spied the table with the knives nearby.

Inching closer as the obviously-crazed man talked, his hand curled around the handle of one of them.

When the man stepped forward into d'Artagnan line of vision, he raised and let fly the dagger in the same fluid motion.

Beaufort's expression changed from a snarl to one of utter pain and shock as the knife's blade caught him in the throat.

His pistol went off in reaction to his finger's spasm as he was hit, but the bullet flew harmlessly to his left, hitting the far wall.

Beaufort sank slowly to his knees, then to the ground, his eyes never leaving Athos, as they finally dimmed and closed.

Seeing his two men behind where he had been standing, d'Artagnan drew his pistol, while Athos swiftly removed Porthos' weapon to use.

The men, probably figuring they would spend the rest of their lives in prison if they gave up, lifted their guns to fire. But the Musketeers ended their attempt simultaneously, leaving three dead men on the floor now.

As d'Artagnan moved swiftly over to release Athos from the shackles, Aramis shuddered as his eyes fluttered open.

His eyes darted around, but they were not lucid. Porthos held him close as he whimpered from his pain, and his eyes closed once more. Athos' gaze never left his brother's face, worry and anguish written on his features.

Finally ready to leave the scene of torment, Porthos as gently as possible lifted Aramis into his arms. It still caused him to cry out, however.

They all wondered how bad he was, and if he had any damage inside that they couldn't see. Athos, from where he had been, sometimes couldn't see the exact locations of where he had been hit, or how deeply.

It is my fault, Athos told himself again. It will break my heart permanently if my best friend di..., stopping himself from saying the word even in his thoughts.

Getting to his feet he swayed, feeling d'Artagnan's support almost immediately. He had been chained so long without being able to reach his feet that they wouldn't yet support him.

They made their way slowly through the building, stepping over the bodies of Beaufort and his men, and then out the door.

Athos took a long, deep breath of the fresh air outside, so glad to be free again. Then, his gaze returned to his brother from which it had seldom strayed, and his heart plummeted yet again.

I'm responsible for this, he thought. He has to pull through. He has to.

They made slow progress, as Athos was still walking on wobbly legs, and Porthos was doing everything possible not to jar his brother's abused body.

When the gates of the garrison finally came into view, there was silent rejoicing in the hearts of all of them.

Walking through the gates, they heard the cadet at his post shout, "Captain!"

Almost as soon as his name had been called, Treville came rapidly through his door and down the steps, striding across the courtyard towards them.

Taking one look at Athos and a much longer scrutiny of Aramis, he demanded, "What the blazes happened?"

Athos answered succinctly, "Someone took his perverted vengeance against me out on Aramis," his eyes belying his angry tone as they filled with tears.

Treville was surprised at the depth of emotion voiced by the usually taciturn Musketeer. Hecould see the tension in his lieutenant's body, and resolved to wait for a full description.

"How bad?" he asked in a softer voice.

"Very," Athos responded, causing the Captain to call over his shoulder to the cadet, "Go to the palace and bring Lemay back-now!" his tone sending the man racing out of the gates as if he were being pursued by a pack of wild dogs.

Kicking open the infirmary door, Porthos moved rapidly across the room to the far corner, away from any possible traffic in or out of the room.

Laying Aramis down gently, he began to divest him of his clothing, his brothers assisting him.

Once they were all off, their faces registered shock.

They had been rushing at the time to temporarily bandage what they could of his wounds. But they could see that it was even worse now that everything was visible.

The wound in his side was bordering on infection, and had bled through the makeshift bandage and down his leg on the inside of his pants, which was why they had failed to notice.

There was a deep nasty cut on his thigh, and another across his collarbone. Hurriedly washing them clean and bandaging them, they checked the myriad other wounds. The ones they had bandaged had not bled again, for which they were thankful. They found several others they hadn't seen before, and carefully took care of them, cleaning and bandaging all that they found.

Grateful that he hadn't awakened or been disturbed by their activity, they covered him with blankets. Porthos insisted on first watch, hunkering down in the chair beside the bed with his brother's hand clasped in his own.

Athos, his eyes almost haunted with grief, still riveted on the still form of his brother, seeming not to notice anyone else in the room.

D'Artagnan finally asked the question he and Porthos had nagging at their minds.

"What happened, Athos?" concern lacing every word.

Athos was silent for so long, d'Artagnan thought maybe he had not been heard.

Just as he was about to repeat his question, Athos responded.


	33. Chapter 33

"Some years ago, I was at a tavern drinking," Athos began. "I had been there a while, and amused myself by watching others during the evening. One young man..." hesitating now.

"Yes?" d'Artagnan quietly prompted.

He was, perhaps, nineteen or twenty. He was confident, to the point of being cocky in his attentions to the young barmaid who was serving him. He was obviously used to being seen as handsome and desirable.

He was pressuring the barmaid to give her attentions to him, but she was not interested. This seemed to, at first, frustrate him, but gradually made him angry. He obviously was not used to hearing the word no from young women.

Giving in to his temper, he forced her against the wall behind his table. His hands held the now-frightened young woman, keeping her from getting away as she plainly wished to do.

Then, he kissed her, even though she tried to turn her head. She must have said something he did not like, because suddenly, he hit her-hard.

Others in the tavern saw this happening, but did nothing. I could not stay back and allow her to be attacked.

I walked over to the table, and asked him to unhand her. He turned and looked at me with a scowl, saying, "Mind your own business."

"I am making this my business. Let her go."

The man did not release her, but turned his back again to me and continued his unwanted attentions, more forcefully this time.

"I reached out and grabbed his elbow, pulling him away from the woman, who looked very shaken and frightened.

But that moment of diversion as I looked at the woman gave him time to draw his sword. I had not thought the incident would escalate, but when he thrust it at me suddenly, I backed away and drew my own weapon.

I had intended to use my sword defensively. I ended up running him through when he came full-force at me, or I could have been run through.

I had a word with the tavern owner, who was very grateful for my intervention. It seems the young barmaid was his daughter. He said he would see to the disposal of the body, and let the authorities know that it had been Musketeer business.. He knew I was a Musketeer, and that I never had come in seeking trouble.

The man who held us nearly killed Aramis was the dead man's brother. He wanted to kill someone close to me..." breaking off as his eyes held steadily now on his unconscious brother..."in return for my having killed someone he loved."

"I had not seen the young man with anyone else other than the barmaid, but I did remember a large, silent man in the corner as I made my way out of the tavern. The man's single-minded glare as he left stayed with him for several days, wondering if he had been the dead man's friend or relative.

Towards the end, Athos' voice grew quieter, his emotions about what had happened to Aramis because of him getting the better of him over his usually reticent and non-emotional side.

As he stood up, he laid a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, as he said softly, "If...if Aramis does not make it...because of me...I will never forgive myself."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Porthos sat silently at his brother's side, holding his limp, almost lifeless hand within his large one.

"Come on, 'Mis," he whispered. "You're usually the one who is so talkative, always has something to say," hoping his teasing banter might penetrate the utter lack of movement/sound/anything that had been Aramis since they had brought him back.

But the words fell on deaf ears.

Porthos didn't blame Athos for a moment. The men who had done this were utterly evil, he thought. And he was sure, knowing Aramis as he did, that the marksman didn't blame his brother either.

Glancing over at Athos, however, the guilt was still written all over his face, as it had been since they had found he and Aramis.

Despite Athos' quiet recitation while answering d'Artagnan, he had heard almost all of what he had said. Not one of them would have done anything different than Athos had to defend a young woman's honor and virtue. He had nothing to be guilty about.

He would have to sit down and have a long talk with the swordsman after Aramis was recovering.

If he reco...he stopped himself. Of course, he would recover. They wouldn't let him do anything else, he told himself fiercely.

Deciding he would see if he was once more successful at dribbling a little water into Aramis, he reluctantly let go of his hand and stood, moving quickly and silently over to the small table holding an earthen water pitcher and several tin cups.

Pouring some water into one of the cups, he suddenly heard a choked gasp and then a thud.

Turning swiftly, his heart dropped as he saw Aramis thrashing on the floor.

Athos and d'Artagnan had heard the noise, as well, all of them converging on Aramis at once.

Athos got there first and lifted Aramis' upper body into his arms as he knelt on the floor next to him.

Aramis continued to struggle, not being conscious of where he was, until Athos began to soothe him, his hand cupping his brother's neck as he said over and over, "It is all right, Aramis. You are safe, brother," until his body stilled again.

Athos thought Aramis had passed out, but as he continued to hold him, he heard a faint whisper of a voice, saying, "N...not your...f...fault."

Staring at his brother, who, other than those whispered words, looked still and unconscious, he then looked up at his brothers in a circle above him, tears streaming down now.

He was stunned at Aramis' words, obviously spoken without being conscious.

Remaining as he was, his mind still full and of guilt, he thought, 'you are the most gracious and forgiving man I have ever known, mon ami, but I caused this.'

Then aloud, 'Please come back to us, brother.'


	34. Chapter 34

Nothing Athos' brothers tried to say to relieve his feelings of guilt seemed to abate his guilty conscience.

I did this, was always his silent refrain. Hurting someone I love more than my own life was their revenge.

I deserved to have been the one who was tortured. Who could have been killed (murdered, he amended in his mind). Who might Still...NO! He cannot die.

He shuddered at the very thought. He cannot die for what I did. Regardless of whether it was felt that I unjustly killed Beaufort's brother or not, if he wanted revenge, it should have been on me. Not Aramis. Never Aramis.

Aramis' body shifted slightly in his sleep, eliciting a soft moan from the marksman.

Athos' hand immediately reached out to run his fingers through his brother's hair in a soothing motion, something he knew comforted his brother.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis gradually began to recover, although the pain he was still in was evident to all of them.

As was usual with their beloved brother, pain or not, once he began to recover, he wanted to do too much way too soon.

After they found him, when they were all out of the infirmary for a short while, on his feet although swaying badly, they decided to resume dividing up the time between the three of them staying by his side.

And Aramis, being Aramis, noticed very quickly and called them on it.

"I do not need a nanny," he told them. "I am recurating."

Athos, as usual, spoke for all of them when he replied, "Aramis, we realize that you are gradually getting well, for which we are exceedingly grateful. But..."holding Aramis' gaze steadily with his own, "getting well and being recovered are not at all the same thing."

"But..." Aramis began.

"We desire you to have a complete recovery and minus the pain we can still see in you, despite your attempting to hide it from us. We also do not want your stitches to break from falling when you try to get up and unsteadily walk on your own...and unassisted. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Aramis, at this point, was starting to wonder if his brother would always have the uncomfortable ability to make him feel like a recalcitrant child. He hung his head, though, realizing that his words were indeed true. He was uncomfortably aware that Athos' words were the truth-he just never seemed to be able to stay abed when sick or injured.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis, to his credit, worked hard on being a model patient from then onwards, despite rebelling sometimes inwardly. It helped him, too, seeing how happy this made his brothers.

But he still saw a sad and guilty expression on Athos' face sometimes, and he noticed it only appeared when he thought the marksman wouldn't see it.

He resolved to have a talk with his brother when a good opportunity arose.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis' opportunity came a week later.

He had been making progress in his recovery, so Treville had finally broken down and let him clean the pistols and muskets in the armoury, after Aramis had insistently kept asking him if he could do so.

He was happily working away, and even whistling softly, when Athos came into the armoury looking for a pistol he had misplaced.

Frowning as he spied Aramis sitting towards the back of the room, he said, "What are you doing in here, Aramis?"

"Cleaning the pistols," Aramis retorted, as if Athos couldn't already see that before he had asked the question.

"Aramis," Athos spoke in a stern, uncompromising tone of voice to Aramis' lighthearted response.

"You can ask the Captain, if you do not believe me. He gave me permission, Athos," Aramis quietly said. "I would not be here if he had not. You know that, mon ami," a faint undercurrent of hurt running through his words now that his brother was questioning him.

"I also know how you can maneuver someone when you really wish to do something," Athos answered, an eyebrow cocked as he spoke.

Aramis very slowly and carefully laid the pistol and the rag he had been to clean it down on the floor beneath him, before rising to his feet.

"Athos", he softly spoke, "we need to talk."

Athos' eyebrow rose higher, but he said nothing.

There was a long silence before Aramis again began to speak.

"Athos," he began, "I am almost healed now."

"Almost," Athos immediately honed in on the descriptive word.

"I am sitting down, not moving around much at all. I can clean and polish pistols in my sleep. You know that."

"Aramis, you were nearly tortured to death. Of course, I am concerned if I feel you are doing something that could set you back. It is my f..."

Aramis had known the words would come, had anticipated them.

Very slowly he enunciated his words. " . not. your. fault, Athos. It has never been your fault."

"But..."

"The men who held us captive was badly deranged, mon ami. He saw something that no one in their right mind would consider the same way. You assisted a young woman who, without your intervention, would in all likelihood have been raped that night."

"I know that. But for Beaufort to take his revenge out on you..."

"Did you suggest that he do that?"

The question shocked Athos, who stared at Aramis as if he couldn't believe he had asked such a question.

"How can you ask me such a thing?"

"Because of your feelings of guilt, Athos. You are behaving as if you had a hand in it."

"I would never..."

Of course you wouldn't, mon ami. The man wanted you to feel guilt. He manipulated what happened, wanting you to feel you were to blame for the rest of your life. That was the object of his revenge."

Athos had been listening intently. The look in his eyes now as he stared at Aramis told the marksman that his words had finally struck a chord in his brother.

"You love me, Athos, as you also love Porthos and d'Artagnan. And we love you. We only wish the best for each other. Others see this, and try to use it against us. Beaufort did the same. It was a sick thing he did, but it came from a twisted mind. Don't let him win. He was not half the man I know you to be. You are guilty of nothing-absolutely nothing."

Then he ceased speaking, letting his words sink in.

When Athos again raised his face to look into his eyes, Aramis could see that the guilt that had haunted him was finally not reflecting in those eyes.

Athos walked slowly forward, then slung his arm around Aramis' shoulder.

"Let us go find Porthos and d'Artagnan, and head for the Wren. I hear they are serving that chicken stew you love so much."

Aramis' arm reached around Athos' shoulder, as well, as they headed out the door smiling.

Fin.

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_**I will have a new chapter either next week or the week after. Thanks so much for reading!**_


	35. Chapter 35

Aramis had to find a discreet way to deliver it.

He had spent all his spare hours carving a rifle from a piece of wood for his son's 4th birthday, only to realize he had no way to discreetly give it to him.

He didn't want to just wrap it and leave it anonymously with the palace servants. He needed to see his son's face when he received it.

But how?

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Athos had taken him aside when he had come across his brother hard at work carving, realizing from what it was that it was for his son.

At first, he had tried to tell him not to try getting it to the Dauphin. The hurt that had

instantly flashed across Aramis' face made him back away from that suggestion.

He had come to realize that if he himself had a son, and had not only been unable or go near him, but had not even been able to see the boy take his first step, speak for the first time or any of the other normal firsts of a child, he just may have been a little desperate himself.

"Just be very careful, mon ami," he had strongly cautioned. "Perceived treason take's one's life, and we would be exceedingly heartbroken if that were to happen to you."

Aramis knew that Athos was only cautioning him because loved his brother. Nodding, his focus went back to his endeavor.

A couple of days later, he had finished it. Even though he had never seriously carved anything as an adult, he knew as he looked it over that he had done a great job, which pleased him very much.

Now to find a way to get it to Louis, he thought. He didn't want any Red Guards catching him on the palace grounds when he was off-duty, so either he needed to be exceedingly cautious and try anyway, or else find a way while on-duty, which didn't necessarily make it a lot easier, either.

The Musketeers and Red Guards detested one another, and he knew the Red Guards would have a field day if they spied any unauthorized activity from him.

He ran various ideas through his head as he continued to whittle the wood.

It was the day before the Dauphin's birthday.

Aramis and his brothers had drawn palace guard duty for the day. Athos, surreptiously keeping an eye on Aramis, just instinctively knew his brother was up to something. Aramis was watching his son intently, a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

They had not talked again about the gift, but it didn't take a genius, considering the fact that it was also the Dauphin's birthday, to figure out that Aramis had thought of a way to get to his son. Athos wasn't going to let his brother be hung, if he could help it.

He kept an eye on him all day, but Aramis made no suspicious move towards his son, and didn't enter the palace, either. Deciding, against his instincts, that Aramis might have given up making contact, he relaxed a little more.

At the end of their day of duty, the four of them headed back to the garrison, joking and story-telling as they looked forward to a good meal in the refectory and a quiet evening.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis said goodnight to his brothers several hours later, having made a small show of yawning and drowsy eyes for an hour or so beforehand.

Heading for his room, he quickly grabbed the gift, carefully wrapped in some brown paper, which was all he had been able to afford.

Glancing carefully first out his door, he smiled as saw his brothers heading out of the gates. They had tried at dinner to get him to come to their favorite tavern with them, but he gracefully turned them down. The show of tiredness seemed to have convinced them, as they didn't push the suggestion any more after that.

He gave his brother ten minutes before leaving himself. Wearing a nondescript black cloak, and with the brim of his head pulled down over his face, he moved swiftly through the streets towards the palace.

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Standing at the edge of the palace gardens under a spreading tree, he studied the building. Watching, he picked up on the pattern of the Red Guards patrolling the outside of the building.

When they had turned the corner of the east wing out-of-sight, he moved. Crossing the last expanse of the gardens in minutes, he headed for the door leading to the remote lower level where he had spoken with Anne several times. It should be a safe route, he thought and prayed. If the Queen had been able to get there unnoticed, he should be able to, as well.

It dark and quiet inside. Finding the stairs she had used, he quickly and quietly headed upstairs. Pausing on the landing before moving onwards to the Royal Family's wing of the palace, he again had recourse to prayer for aid as he tried to make his little happy for his birthday.

Turning and heading down the long and, surprisingly, deserted hallway towards his son's room, Aramis gave thanks for such an uneventful journey, so far.

Hearing booted feet, he hurriedly ducked back around the corner he had turned, just in time to avoid a Red Guard on patrol. Don't get too confident, he chided himself.

When the guard had passed, Aramis, moving soundlessly, headed for his son's room. Reaching the door, he almost couldn't believe his luck so far. He had seen and heard no one in the hallways. Not a Red Guard in sight!

Opening the door, he moved quietly into the room. He gave thanks that no governess was in the room, but told him to stay alert, in case she came in.

Standing next to his son's bed, he felt an overwhelming love envelop him as he beheld his son curled up on his bed in sleep. One hand tucked under his chin, Aramis smiled, recognizing that his son seemed to have inherited one of his own traits, as his hand was often under his chin when he awoke in the morning.

His son was growing into a very handsome young man, Aramis mused. He would have all the ladies after him in a few years, a small grin appearing at the thought.

He knew he didn't coudn't stay very long, no matter how much he longed to. His luck was bound to run out soon.

Laying his gift at the foot of his son's bed, he stopped for a moment for one last long look, then turned around to leave, only to find that he was no longer alone with his son.

Anne stood just inside the door she had silently closed behind her, a beautiful smile gracing her face.

Aramis froze, gazing at his beloved with a raw hunger on his face, as he then slowly began to walk towards her.

Anne moved herself, surprising both him and herself by enveloping him in a swift hug the moment she was near enough.

Almost as soon as she had done so, however, she backed away a step, a question in her eyes.

His voice a soft whisper so that he wouldn't wake their sleeping son, he said, "I had to come. I brought a gift for his birthday, Anne."

Glancing over at her son, she saw the carefully-wrapped gift at the foot of the bed.

Aramis, concerned that she would be upset with him, said, "I have never been able to celebrate any of his other birthdays...and may never be able to do so again," the heartbreak in his voice causing her to ache for the pain her beloved felt.

"Thank you, Aramis, for the gift. I wish with all my heart that things weren't the way they are."

Seeing Aramis start to reach out for her, she sadly shook her head. "We are both prisoners of our circumstances. You probably should go now before his governess comes back, my love."

Aramis hesitated, and then with resignation, started around her for the door. Leaning over as he passed, he swiftly laid a gentle kiss on her cheek.

He was not prepared for her arms to suddenly envelope him and kiss him long and passionately, every ounce of her love for him and their forced separation enfolded within it. Then, pulling herself away, she whispered, "Go with God, my beloved."

Aramis slowly left, his backward-turned gaze never leaving her face until the door closed behind him.

He once again wasn't seen leaving the palace.

He got a few yards away from the building, when he got feeling that he was being followed, however.

Slowing down, all of his senses now on high alert, his hand reached down to the handle of his pistol, beginning to pull it free.

Then, he heard a very familiar voice say to right behind him, "I told you he was almost impossible to trail," followed by a deep-throated laugh.

"Porthos!" Aramis exclaimed.

Whirling around, Aramis now beheld all three of his brothers as they materialized out of the trees to his left.

"What are you doing here?" he asked them.

"Athos recruited us to make sure you got out of the palace alive," d'Artagnan said, merriment lacing his words.

"Athos finally spoke up. "Trouble does tend to find you, brother."

Giving them a theatrically-offended look, Aramis said, "There was no trouble, and if there had been, I am well able to defend myself."

Porthos' face was now broadly smiling, and even Athos had a hint of a twinkle in his eyes at their conversation.

As he had not revealed to his brothers just why they were checking to be sure Aramis left the palace in one piece, Athos was just relieved that nothing untoward had happened, so he didn't need to inform them.

Changing the subject, he said, "Let us adjourn to The Wren for an evening of good food and ..."

"Wine," Aramis and d'Artagnan, knowing Athos, said simultaneously, almost drowning out Porthos' suggestion of cards.

Still in very good moods, they headed leisurely down the streets,looking forward to a very pleasant evening.


End file.
